


Everyone but Me

by its_mike_kapufty



Category: Rhett & Link
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Sex, Bars and Pubs, Basketball, Bets & Wagers, Blow Jobs, Cigarettes, Concerts, Denial of Feelings, Don't copy to another site, Drinking, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Time, Heart-to-Heart, House Party, Hurt/Comfort, Internalized Homophobia, Jealousy, Jock!Rhett, Kissing, Light Angst, M/M, Marijuana, Masturbation, Nude Photos, Piercings, Pining, Post-Game(s), Pride Celebration, Protectiveness, Self-Doubt, Slow Dancing, Slurs, Social Media, Sthenolagnia, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-09
Updated: 2019-09-19
Packaged: 2020-10-13 13:37:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 46,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20583383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/its_mike_kapufty/pseuds/its_mike_kapufty
Summary: Rhett can fit in anywhere, make small talk with anyone. He's one of NC State's best players, after all. If he can't dazzle strangers with his records and status—if he's not the perfect example of the masculine standard—then who is he?





	1. Just Once

**Author's Note:**

  * For [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts).

> This fic is through and through a love letter for [Bellamy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/analog08/pseuds/analog08/works?fandom_id=1373381). It started with them sending me [this post](https://rhink80.tumblr.com/post/180958069866/tragica-gudmythicalmorning-rhinkcuddling), asking if I would write a ficlet based on their tags, and spiraled out of control from there. You could say the entire thing is tailored to their tastes. :) B, I know I'm not alone when I say you're the fuel in my lantern. I never deserved such a loving friend and supporter, but here we are. So much of my work wouldn't exist without you cheering me on. Thank you for being you.
> 
> Thank you [Dill](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rhinkythingz/works) as always for screaming at me and [Math](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rhincoln/pseuds/rhincoln) for beta'ing and screaming as well!

It’s not that Rhett’s never invited to parties—it’s that he’s never invited to parties like _ this. _

Leagues calmer and quieter than the irresponsibly-misnomered ‘get-togethers’ that his teammates often throw, the cramped apartment’s walls are bedecked in thin crimson tapestries. Piles of incense ash dust most tabletops. The music playing is a folkie band he vaguely recognizes, and if Gregg were here—as he promised he _ would _be—maybe Rhett could actually ask someone who the artist is.

_ “I miss him, don’t you blame me? _ _  
_ _ That boy went stone-cold crazy.” _

But the scattered groups of people drinking cans of shitty ale and speaking too softly for a party pay him no mind. They aren’t purposefully excluding him, he knows. He’s simply an undeniable stranger in their midst, leaned against the wall with his own shitty ale, and apparently that means being left to his devices just in case he’s too fragile to handle having a spotlight on him.

They’re a thoughtful bunch. Weirdly thoughtful, in a way that almost backfires and seems cold.

It’s certainly less… _ flamboyant_, than Rhett had assumed it would be, for a party largely comprised of gay kids. Or queer people. LGBT? Whatever the phrase is. His naivete bites him again for the second time that night, after he’d arrived and found that ‘huh, maybe gay house parties _ aren’t _like private dance clubs.’ At least not this one. It’s just… people hanging out.

The rainbow flag draped over the door to the back porch draws his eye for the fourth time that night. It’s colorful. Hard not to look at with its vibrancy, and Rhett considers each hued band as he brings his beer to his lips. 

“Everyone here but me,” he mumbles absently, finishing off his drink.

He likes to think he’s open-minded, being the son of a professor. It comes with the territory, makes him more than just a Sports Guy despite the mornings he spends on the court and the jersey currently baring his pale underarms to the room. He can talk to anybody comfortably, and if he can’t, then it’s a chance to get out of his comfort zone. Learn about different perspectives and whatnot. Maybe dazzle some folks with his personal records, while he’s at it.

With this in mind, he quiets his rocky stomach with the chewable goal of ‘more beer’ and heads into the kitchen. There’s a red communal cooler in the floor for those who didn’t BTOB—it’s full of obviously less-popular brews left over from parties past, and Rhett makes a mental note to slip the bubbly blonde host with the septum piercing a tenner at some point. He doesn’t mind drinking run-off (beggars can’t be choosers), but the cooler is currently under happenstantial guard by a group chatting around it. 

“‘Scuse me,” Rhett requests, a bit louder than he’d intended, and their talk hushes instantly as four pairs of eyes turn up at him. 

Brown, brown, brown, _ blue. _ Holy shit, so _ fucking blue, what the fuck? _

Instantly, Rhett forgets himself in the scrutiny of the man on his right, like he’d just been involuntarily snatched up for the annual campus Polar Plunge. A blemish-free face shaped like a heart, soft brown hair, just a hint of stubble, boy-band lips. The guy is—he’s—God, he could get any girl he wanted!

Only—he might not… want _ any _ girl? Such a shame. He would make one hell of a wingman.

Snapping his attention back to the cooler, he speaks before too much time slips by. “Just getting another beer. Didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“No problem,” chirps a girl with short red hair and thick tattooed arms, resting her hips back against the counter. “Sorry we’re Bogarting it.”

“Nah, you’re fine.” Rhett crouches to access the treasure chest in question, and no sooner is he fishing for beer like a college gacha game than another of them pipes up.

“You look familiar. Are you on our basketball team?”

Rhett looks up at a lanky, mousy fellow with an angular jaw and tugs his jersey with a showcasing pinch. “I am. This is me.”

“Cool, man. That’s neat.”

“Is it?” Rhett questions with a laugh. 

Standing, he’s only got a couple of inches on his admittedly-tall conversation partner, but it’s hard not to pit everyone else’s appearance against the shorter specimen to his right… who still hasn’t said a word. With how conventionally attractive Mr. Playgirl is, his personality’s _ gotta _be shit, right? Hopefully he opens that mouth soon so Rhett is vindicated.

“Yeah,” mousy claims, snapping Rhett’s train of thought. “I follow the games sometimes. You’re one of the good ones.” 

And Rhett has several thoughts all at once:

_ Those are my teammates you’re dismissing—we’re all ‘good ones’. _

_ Follow the games ‘sometimes’? What does that mean? _

_ Probably hitting on me. Egh. _

Instead of voicing any of these, Rhett swallows and cracks the tab of his beer, nodding at it. “Well, that’s kind of you.”

“What’s on your hat?” asks the redhead, pointing, and Rhett pulls off his cap happily. 

“Limited edition John Deere design,” he announces, turning it by the bill. But overambitious and tipsy fingers fumble, and the hat falls to the kitchen tile with a light thud. 

After the offensively-handsome one swiftly stoops and picks it up, he offers it back to Rhett with an averted gaze and tight shoulders. Which, _ that’s _hard to ignore. The others in the group are already sidetracked, chatting about who in their family lives on a farm, but Rhett tunes them out. 

“Thanks.” He reaches for the cap and doesn’t miss the way this guy withdraws, just a hair.

He’d _ flinched. _

Carefully, focus darting between his hat and the stranger’s shyness, Rhett takes his prized possession back with a gentle tug and replaces it on his head.

“Hey,” he requests, and ether-eyes finally manages to pay him mind. It’s unpinned, though. Could fly away at any second, so Rhett tries to cage it. “I know I’m tall. I don’t bite, though.”

“Sorry,” the brunet simply murmurs, busying his mouth with his drink until it’s tilted back and gone. 

That Adam’s apple—the way it bobs is almost pornographic. Jesus. Did he teach himself how to gulp like that? To be more attractive to gay men?

“I’m Rhett.” It’s as good a way to extend an olive branch as any. S’fine if he doesn’t want to talk, but like hell Rhett’s gonna ignore the fact that someone’s _ scared _of him at a party. He’s not here to harsh anyone’s good time, and he certainly doesn’t want to feel responsible for keeping anyone on their toes all evening.

The stranger considers him for a quiet moment, fingers tight on his now-empty can. “Link,” he eventually responds in kind, and Rhett’s throat is suddenly aching for alcohol. 

“You need a fresh one?” he asks, motioning to the cooler, but Link shakes his head and points limply over his shoulder. 

“I’ve got—mine’s in the fridge.”

“Sure. Too good for the watering hole, I see.” 

It’s supposed to be a joke. Judging by the way Link squints up at him, though, it doesn’t land, and only when Rhett huffs a nervous chuckle does Link return a fragile, humored smirk.

“Be right back.”

“Yep.”

_ What’s up with you, _ Rhett chastises himself, blinking hard and frowning into his beer. _ That wasn’t even a good joke, you just teased him and you don’t even know him. He’s gonna think he’s justified if you don’t ease up and relax. _

Before Rhett has collected himself, Link returns with fresh poison and stands idly by. The ball player notices when Link glances at his arms, and pride pangs through his chest. And why shouldn’t he? He works hard for those muscles. _ Probably wishes he had arms like mine under that baggy hoodie of his. _

“So,” Link starts quietly, and Rhett has to lean in to hear him better, making the guy wince again at the closeness.

God dammit. Does Rhett _ look _like a bad person? Of course not. He’s wearing a jersey for their university, for fuck’s sake. They’re on the same team.

“You, uhh… wanna get drunk together?” Link asks out of left field, and Rhett blanks so hard that he forgets that that’s _ kinda _why he’d taken Gregg up on the invitation to begin with. 

It’s a perfectly innocent question on its own, and Rhett considers it for a moment. But does saying ‘yes’ _ entail _ anything? Surely Link’s not trying to get Rhett _ drunk, _or anything like that. They’d only just met. He wouldn’t be that sneaky. Right? Gays don’t, like, hunt straight guys and get them liquored up and convince them to mess around. Right?

Let ‘im try. Like a pretty face could trick Rhett that easily. 

“Yeah.” With a hopefully-friendly smile, he taps his drink against Link’s, and his new inebriation buddy blinks in surprise. “Let’s go sit on the couch.”

* * *

Time passes like booze down their throats as Rhett does his best to out Undiscovered Hanes Model Link as a bad person. If anything, though, his efforts have come up frustratingly fruitless. Only child. From a small town out east, same as Rhett. Likes country music (somehow) and has a quick tongue that has left Rhett wheezing with laughter more than once.

He’s a good guy, to Rhett’s disappointment. A looker _ and _kind.

The more Link speaks, the more relaxed and amicable he becomes, and now he even has a mind to humor Rhett and talk sports despite having made it clear that he’s not really into this sort of thing anymore.

“What _ did _you play, then?” Rhett inquires, hunched forward, elbows on his knees and stroking his small beard with a curious meander.

“Soccer,” Link answers easily, crossing his legs and smirking at his beer as he reminisces. “I wasn’t very good, but I enjoyed it.”

“Ever still play for fun?”

“Sometimes. If I see a ball, I’ll kick it.”

“Scary. Remind me not to undress around you,” Rhett laughs, pressing his can to his lips.

Link snorts, side-eyeing him through a haze of drink. “Why would I _ ever _need to remind you of that?”

Rhett sputters, hopefully not visible enough to register that he’d spit his sip back into the can. A pressure builds in his head and pairs with an unpleasant burn on his face as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, tripping to recover from the foul. “It was—I was joking! Balls, right? And you wouldn’t be able to _ see _a dude’s unless—”

“Calm down,” Link laughs, rapping his fingers on his rubber sole. “You’re quick to rile. I was joking right back.”

Oh.

“Just making sure.” Brow furrowed, Rhett takes the sourness on his own face as an indicator that he needs nicotine. The pack of smokes in his front pocket feels heavy and blessed, and he sets his beer down definitively and motions to the rainbow flag over the back porch. “You smoke?”

Link gawks at him. Gives him a slow once-over. “You _ do? _You’re an athlete.”

“Only when I drink. S’like a craving I get when I’m tipsy. Wanna join me?”

Rhett _ will _do it alone—he wouldn’t have any problem with that. And that’s why the tinge of excitement in his chest when Link pulls a pseudo-frown and nods is so bizarre. 

It’s having company, he decides. Company is always nice.

He’d nearly forgotten that this apartment is on the top floor of the building. Let outside, the spacious wooden porch is littered with leaves from colossal trees that would shade it in daylight. Looking out over the block in this historic part of town fills Rhett with a sort of home-grown appreciation, even if the view ain’t necessarily pretty. Old bricks and crumbling road. 

Ignoring the picnic table, he leads the way to the end of the porch and leans heavy on the not-as-stable-as-it-should-be wooden railing. Link is quiet as he follows, choosing to home his hands in his pockets and watching patiently while Rhett fishes out a cigarette and offers the open pack to him.

“I wouldn’t smoke a whole one,” Link admits, kicking a leaf off the balcony. It flutters down four stories to the street. “Don’t wanna waste yours.”

“I rarely use these. Not a ‘waste’.”

“Still.”

“Fine,” Rhett relents with a quick shrug, stowing the pack and lighting his cigarette. He takes the first inhale deep, letting the smoke soak into him and ease his nerves with its warmth before freeing it into the night air. 

It’s nice out. The dim orange street lamps below dare to reach up and drape a warm glow over Link’s patient features while the guy scans the neighborhood, highlighting and complimenting his eyes. Like a fuckin’ oil painting. A selfie filter, but real. He _ is _real, right? This isn’t some kinda fever dream?

Shit—_ridiculous. _Get your head screwed on straight, McLaughlin. What had they been talking about before? Go back to that.

“Soccer,” Rhett blurts, running his tongue over his teeth and nodding.

Link pulls an amused face. “What about it?”

“Looks exhausting. Takes a lot of endurance to run around a field for hours on end.”

At that, Link bobs his head around in a considering assent. “I guess. It _ did _put me in good shape.”

“Yeah, I’ll _ bet.” _Rhett ashes over the side of the porch and motions the cigarette to Link’s pants. “Bet you’ve got some runner’s calves under there.”

As if prompted, Link kneels and rolls up the cuffs of his clothing, sobering Rhett. Had that really been a request to _ see _them?! Too late now—Link stands and turns, showcasing his well-muscled legs. They’re shapely and fit, cut from stone and dusted in hair that tapers off near his ankles. “You be the judge.”

Where is Rhett’s drink? Why had he set it down?

Rhett pauses to take another drag, considering the display and knowing he very well can’t flat-out _ insult _ Link the way his gut tells him to. The fuck is up with a knee-jerk reaction like that, anyway? Maybe _ he’s _the bad person.

“Yeah,” he caves, smiling and wondering whether the moisture on his brow is sweat. “You’ve got nice legs.”

But Link’s lips tug downwards in a tickled way that squeezes Rhett’s heart before he’s covering back up. “Thanks.”

So… that hadn’t been weird, then? Okay. Okay, Rhett can work with this level of honesty.

“Hard not to admire.” Clearing his throat, he ashes his cigarette again before flipping it and extending it to Link. “Wanna share this with me?”

The following pause is broken by Link’s smile widening, and he takes it and whispers a thanks. 

The way Link smokes is fluid and… oddly alluring. Like an old movie star who’s been doing it his entire life, holding the rolled thing with a belying practice and taking the billow in through a French inhale. Parted, plush lips. A low-lidded haze as he pulls the parlor trick easily.

What the fuck.

Link looks so good. The fuck.

He looks _ so good. _

But Rhett’s not gay. Things are just misfiring in his brain: Link’s touchably feminine features are mixing with the muscles of a male body that Rhett appreciates for its disciplined physique. That’s it. Plain and simple. 

Oh. And he’s drunk! Duh.

“You’ve got nice arms,” Link kicks down the door to Rhett’s mind, dumping him into a flustered blush and scratch of the nose. Shit, this is too much. _ Why _ are they alone, again? Whose idea had that been?

“Yeah?”

“I think so. Even without the get-up, I’d be able to tell you play. They’re toned.”

Rather than offer a courteous word of gratitude as Link had done, Rhett stretches out the arm between them and inspects it for himself. He’s never really thought about whether chicks liked his arms before. They look _ kinda _nice, he supposes. “Huh.”

“Look at your biceps,” Link observes quietly, taking another hit of the cigarette.

“Welcome to the _ gun show,” _Rhett hammers the joke in between them, flashing a shit-eating grin and flexing as Link chokes laughter through smoke. “Caution: first few rows may get wet!”

“Oh my goodness. No need to be gross about it.” The dopey humor on Link’s face doesn’t budge as he lifts his free hand and squeezes the offered muscle, testing its heft. The familiarity of the action swells Rhett’s chest with pride and anticipation as he awaits his verdict. 

Link’s touching him. Judging his body. Which has no right being as thrilling as it absolutely _ is, _considering the heat sinking into the pit of Rhett’s stomach.

“Oh, fuck,” Link breathes, and the soft expletive wrenches Rhett’s brain to a painful halt.

That had sounded… nice. Real nice. 

So what if he wouldn’t mind hearing more things from Link in that exact timbre? Jesus, he’s drunk. It doesn’t _ mean _anything. Give him a break. Plus it’s been a while, if he’s honest. 

“How much can you press?” Link asks quietly, poking here and there as Rhett maintains the flex.

And Rhett’s _ not _gay. He’s not. Everyone else here is, and it’s got him confused and out of his element, as evidenced by the next words out of his mouth.

“How much you weigh?”

It’s a poorly-checked response that’s meant to be a basis for comparison, but Link cocks an eyebrow at him, and a dizziness slams into Rhett that threatens to tip him off the side of the balcony.

Thankfully, Link ends up chuckling and speaking around the cigarette. “Cocky, ain’tcha?” He takes a drag, smirks, and breathes the smoke out warm on Rhett’s skin when he leans over and presses his pursed lips to Rhett’s bicep.

It takes a moment for Rhett to register that Link is _ kissing _his arm, eyes bolted wide and face burning at the unbidden action. It’s gentle, and soft, and his eyelashes flit as he looks up and down the muscle he’s praising like a man at the altar. The point of contact between them burns hot—splashes goosebumps up Rhett’s neck and pools the heat in his stomach too fast to keep in check.

Link breaks the kiss only to trail a second one further up, and when Rhett's brain comes back to him after the third but before the fourth can land, he pulls his arm away and lets out a breath.

“H-Hey, now.”

“Too much?” Link asks innocently, perfectly unaffected. He holds the cigarette up between them and Rhett slowly takes it with shaking fingers. “Sorry. You’ve got really nice arms. It’s kinda… a thing for me, I guess.”

Panic. Panic-met-excitement, and Rhett wants to dart back inside and leave just a _ fraction _less than he wants Link to keep kissing his arm like that. Fucking hell.

“S’fine,” Rhett muses in an internal fugue, knowing he’s wearing his reaction poorly. He’s never been good at hiding how he feels. All Link is doing is smiling kindly at him, though, and what kind of person would run from that? He ashes the cigarette once more and ahems, “We’re already close enough to kissing, sharing this thing.”

“You think so?” 

And it might be Rhett’s overactive imagination that’s currently doing loop-de-loops in his head, but he swears Link watches his mouth closely when he takes his next hit.

“Both, uhh. Both our lips have touched it.” Rhett shrugs, avoids more eye contact ‘cause _ hell _if it ain’t making his problem in his pants worse by the second. He really should excuse himself to go cool down. Or just leave. 

This is snowballing. Link’s a good person. It’s not fair to him. Rhett had learned what he’d set out to learn, so he should go and thank the guy for a fun night of companionship.

And once he’s alone, fuck his fist harder than he had in his entire life.

But again, he’s not… 

“I’m not gay,” Rhett states quickly, looking back at Link.

Link’s expression hasn’t changed, and still doesn’t when he nods. “I believe you.”

“You… you _ do?” _

“Sure. You get why you’re intimidating, right?” Link glances at the lit windows of the party. “Everyone here feels safe. It’s a space we can get together and not worry about being harrassed for existing. Whenever someone new like you comes in, there’s always this fear that something might go wrong, even if we know Gregg is trustworthy. It’s nerve-racking.”

When he looks back at Rhett, he’s a different person than the man who’d been cowering in the kitchen. Honest. Kind. No longer worried about self-preservation. Open and accepting and exactly the kind of person Rhett needs more of in his life.

“That’s why you’re so scary,” Link finishes.

Rhett swallows.

“Then we’re even.”

“What do you mean?” Link murmurs, searching his face.

“You’re fucking _ terrifying.” _Rhett flicks the cigarette to the street and collects Link’s head in his hands, kissing him.

When Link accepts him without a second thought, Rhett embraces the tailspin and plunges into Link’s mouth, shivering at their tongues’ desperate meeting and the scent of chapstick and musk. His cheeks are stubbled-rough to the touch and his throat makes small begging noises that encourage Rhett to guide him to the shadowy side of the building, thumping his back against the brick. 

Rhett only pulls away for a moment, eyes raking over Link’s perfectly blushing _ go ahead_, to drink it in. Memorize this experience, this _ one _experiment. “You want me?”

“You wanna hear me say it, don’t you?” Link smirks, hands finding Rhett’s bare hips under his jersey and rolling needy grips over them to run his blood hot. “How much d’you need your ego stroked, straight boy?”

The tease coils a rumble in Rhett’s throat and he pins Link to the wall, kissing him with a fervency that suggests he can extinguish this desire if he does it deep enough, hard enough. He loses his hat to it, hears it fall forgotten to the porch boards, and it’s only when his tongue asks for more that he feels the bead on Link’s own—a hard, metallic thing that bobs and moves with their exchange, and identifying the unusual sensation crushes a teetering breath from Rhett.

“Are you…?” Lids low, he eases off enough to stare at Link’s lips, which twitch up into a coy smile and wait, knowing yet not helping. “Piercing?” is the only word Rhett gets out.

Languid, Link runs his tongue over his lower lip, opening his mouth just enough for a glint of silver to catch Rhett’s eye. “Yeah-huh.”

Rhett kisses him harsh to prevent the soft swear from spilling into the air between them. He chases the piercing as a goal, like it’s a bundle of nerves to bore down on, and Link tenses beneath him.

This _ needs _to progress, yet it’s hesitant when Rhett moves one palm from Link’s head—leaving the other anchored there to ensure he won’t vanish—and explores a body like his own with touches grazing ribs and navel. Tantalizing and new, he grows selfish with his amateurity, awkward grasps somehow charming Link’s mouth into another smile as they kiss.

Link is laughably more practiced at this; he puts Rhett to shame with deliberate, calculating caresses: sweeping up into his hair, railing down his chest and abdomen with trawling fingers that break Rhett into tremors, one hand’s bruising grip on his waist to guide his straining cock forward into a heavy, flat-palmed grope that elicits a reaching gasp between them.

“_Fuck,_” Rhett trembles, moving his mouth to Link’s neck and kissing there as the brunet’s eyes flutter closed in satisfaction. 

“You like that?” Link checks, petting Rhett’s hardness through his shorts with a dizzying surety. “Why don’t _ you _ tell me how good _ I _am?”

“Good,” Rhett nods, whining into Link’s skin, humiliated but willing if it means Link doesn’t stop. “So fucking good. You’re not scared of breaking me.”

“That’s ‘cause I know what it feels like.”

The reminder draws a soft moan from Rhett as Link strokes him in measured rubs, encouraging him to lose himself. Unravel, and get as hard as his libido will let him for this. Which, as it turns out, is painfully, _ achingly _rigid.

Even through fabric, there’s a real chance Link will work him over completely—he’s twitching against Link’s care. And that’s definitely not where Rhett wants to draw the line on this night of allowances. 

“I’m ready,” admits Rhett breathlessly, pressing his forehead into Link’s shoulder and biting his lip through another stroke.

“For what?” The question is tinged in humor, and Rhett chuckles and shakes his head.

“I dunno. More. Whatever comes next. Please.”

“Well, what do _ you _want?” Link’s voice is syrupy and low, hot in the shell of Rhett’s ear. “I’ll enjoy it no matter what, if you’re gonna be this stupid for it the whole time.”

Another rub. Rhett’s knees buckle and he catches himself on the wall, head spinning with the image of a tongue stud, voice a quiver when he requests, wrecked, “Suck me off?”

It’s Link’s turn to tense up and let out a shaky exhale, and Rhett had _ done that—_Link had fucking _ shaken _ with want at the idea of having Rhett in his mouth, and Rhett’s nipples bud because of it. Would he enjoy Link in _ his _ mouth, sloppy and teaching himself how to suck cock under those icy eyes…? Having a first with _ him, _this irresistible, enticing—fuck, that’s—one step at a time, else Rhett might implode. Which… maybe that’s answer enough.

The kiss Link presses into Rhett’s cheek is entirely too chaste for the following sight of him sinking to his knees, hands splayed on the wall behind him for balance. “Don’t keep me waiting, then.”

They’re technically in public right now, aren’t they? Drink and desire crush out the thought, and it’s a miracle Rhett has the wherewithal to tug his pants and boxers down. 

He braces himself on the brick with one arm, fishing his cock out with the other and keeping his eyes trained on Link as he bares himself to the open air. He isn’t sure what kind of reaction he’s expecting—not like he’s anything exceptional, endowment-wise—but it definitely isn’t for Link to inspect him with one hand, looking his arousal over, then tilting that gorgeous face up into the lamp light and smiling.

“You’ve got a really nice cock, Rhett.”

Rhett could pass out. 

He knows he should smile or laugh or _ anything, _but all his constitution gives him is a fierce blush before Link grips him at his base and runs his tongue over the head in a teasing swathe. A hiss ekes from Rhett’s throat as he watches, cheeks hot, neck hot, everything hot as he tugs up his jersey to watch Link service him.

And god, _ does he. _The teasing stretches out, Link dragging his flattened tongue and stud along each side of Rhett’s length until he’s coated him in spit. Occasionally, a merciful half-pump knits Rhett’s eyebrows together—crushes a quake from his knees in anticipation of more—but Link goes right back to trailing along his skin, never taking him in.

Eventually, Rhett crumbles, begging. “Do you _ really _wanna d-do this, or not?”

Link pulls away, and in the same breath Rhett curses himself internally. But the smirk and wet of Link’s lips are reassuring when he looks up to meet their gaze.

Fuck. _ So _blue. Inappropriately so, for being between Rhett’s legs.

Handsome.

“Trust me—I wanna do this. You have any idea how hot this is, making a straight guy come?” Link asks sincerely, sitting on his heels and arching his back like just _ thinking _about it makes him wanna take Rhett in a different way. “It’s something most guys can only watch shitty porn of or fantasize about, myself included. I’ll be jerking off to this memory for years, man.”

“Fuck, that’s hot,” Rhett shivers at the admission, and Link flashes that grin again. 

Out of all of the things Rhett could focus on and let burn him in Link’s words, so far it’s the ones that reflect what’s happening that sear the best: _ nice cock, jerking off, man. _Ones that remind him that Link has a dick, too.

Another tug up from his base, and this time a clear pearl of precum beads at his slit. It must be what Link’s been waiting for. “_There _we go,” he praises, breaking his hold and collecting it to stroke down Rhett with a now-slick palm. “Get ready.” 

Before Rhett can so much as moan from the welcome friction of Link’s grip, he’s taken into his warm, wet mouth and sucked.

“_Ahhh,” _he whines high, grip on his jersey tight as he acclimates to the difference in sensation. 

Jesus, he can feel it _ now, _and Link’s barely even started: this is going to be the best orgasm of his life. 

Desperate to memorize it, Rhett steels himself as looks down, absorbing details as best he can through the overwhelming pleasure. Link’s cheeks are hollowed, hair bobbing as he gets into it like he’s been dying for Rhett’s cum in his throat. Occasionally those pupil-blown irises find Rhett’s along with that _ goddamn smile_, and each time is a shot of pure, wild need that roils in Rhett’s stomach. 

“Link,” Rhett manages, wanting to give him words. The guy is practiced and flawless and leaving nothing for Rhett to worry about as he drawls his tongue along the underside of Rhett’s cock—toys and flirts with the ridges of his head, piercing adding jolts—and _ fuck, _ he deserves to hear _ something _about how good he’s doing, doesn’t he? Rhett’s coming apart at the goddamn seams, each inch dragged closer to shattering with every dip of Link’s head.

“You give _ amazing _head. Fuck, you’re—” Another gasp, as Link’s free hand finds Rhett’s tight balls and cradles them through the fabric of his waistband. “Oh, my god!”

Link hums happily before slicking off to pump Rhett with his arm and gaze up at him. “That good?”

“Yeah,” Rhett nods eagerly. Fuck it, this is incredible. “You really know what you’re doing, I’ve—_hahh_, I’ve never felt anything this good before.”

“Funny, ‘cause I’m actually pretty mediocre at blow jobs,” Link states, still smiling. 

The fuck does that mean? Why’s he smiling?

“N-No?” Rhett asks, bewildered. _ God, _does he want to touch Link.

“You ever consider that maybe it could’ve always felt this good, if it was a guy doin’ it?” Link dares, and Rhett presses his lips thin, blushing and shaking through Link’s handiwork.

“I _ told _you, I’m not gay.”

“I know you _think _you’re not.” Link releases Rhett’s balls and finds the hand tangled in his shirt, grabbing it and redirecting it to rest on his own stubbled cheek. “But to also say you’ve ‘never felt anything like this before’? Guess what: I’m a _guy, _and I’m definitely making you feel like this. And I’m definitely about to make you cum.”

Rhett can’t respond to that—instead, he internalizes it like a command, flushed and nodding and screwing his eyes shut as it sneaks up on him, rubbing a thumb on Link’s rough cheek.

“Fuck my face, Rhett.” 

The request is strained, and as soon as Link’s lips are back on him, Rhett’s hand switches from his cheek to his hair and steadies his head, fingers cusping his crown to keep him steady as he thrusts into Link’s mouth greedily.

It’s too much—the moment he reopens his eyes to peer down at Link taking his cock, the spit running down Link’s chin, the heat coiling and coiling as he begins to pant and cave. But what sends Rhett over the edge and does its best to rip his soul from his body is the hoarse want that had been in Link’s voice; that desire to be used. The clear image of Link’s hard cock leaking and twitching, neglected and hidden away between his legs but desperate for Rhett—_because _of Rhett.

“Fuck, Link, _ fuck—I’m coming!” _Rhett warns, easing his death hold in Link’s hair and spilling into his throat, grunting and rolling his hips as Link takes hiking breaths that shake and hum.

Breathing heavy, everything returns to stillness as Rhett tries to collect himself and Link wipes his mouth, swallowing. 

It’s quiet out. How loud had they been? How loud had _ Rhett _been? Shit.

With fragile and fleeting pets to Link’s head, he takes a step back to give the guy some space. “Sorry. Sorry about your… if I pulled too hard. Or… hurt you. Or anything.”

When Link looks up—flushed—Rhett offers a hand and helps him to his feet.

He’s trembling all over, and another wave of heat slams into Rhett at the sight. It’s wrapped in guilt, though, and he rubs his own arms, worried. “Uhh… I don’t know if I should… S-Sorry, that I can’t—”

“Rhett, it’s fine. Really,” Link says quickly. He hands Rhett's abandoned ball cap back to him, then pauses to give a smile that sparkles his eyes and reads sincerely, through and through. “That was… _ way _more fun than I thought it would be. I’ll just,” he sighs, looking at the door back inside with a blush. “I’ll say goodnight, head home, and masturbate furiously for a solid hour.”

Rhett straightens, thumbing the stitching of his hat and trying not to imagine Link’s perfect naked form sprawled out on a bed, teasing himself, maybe with a finger exploring and soft gasps as he comes undone. 

What a thought.

“R-Right.”

“Okay then.” Link beams and squirms a little, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

“Uhh… thanks. For… doin’ that.” Rhett sounds lame. He knows he does, who the fuck pulls this kinda shit? 

“Psh. That was as much for me as it was for you, I promise.” Link’s laugh fills the silent porch, giddy and dizzy, and he shakes his head and turns for the door. “I won’t tell anyone. But I hope if you see me around campus, you’ll wave.”

Rhett stares after him.

He can do that. He can wave.

But he can’t do _ this_.

“Link!”

The blurt startles Link, who spins around and watches Rhett curiously with large eyes. The understanding and quietude he holds is unnerving, enough so that Rhett loses his gall and falters back into safety.

“I’ll… I’ll see you around?” he asks, scuffing his shoes against one another and glancing between Link and the porch boards.

It’s gradual, but Link’s smile grows 'til it breaks into a rosy grin.

“I hope so.”


	2. "Brett"

_ I almost had it. _

_ The words were right there, and I didn’t get them out. _

Rhett leans on the bar and flips his phone in his palm, feeling the weight of it. It’s worried warm, the sweat-slick screen hot on skin as it turns and turns. With his free hand he nudges his beer around the bar top, watching the coaster push across the laminate and streak through puddles of condensation. This is his own little world in which he can ruminate, and the bubble is comfortable and finite until a voice pops it.

“‘Nother drink, sir?” 

Rhett spares the barkeep an irritated glare before eyeing the rest of his drink. He wants to, but shouldn’t. This streak of indulgent behavior has to end; games are coming up soon. Even practices had been ten times rougher than usual thanks to the cigarettes and liquor as of late.

“Nah,” Rhett sighs and taps his phone on the bar. “I’ll be outta your hair soon enough.”

“Ain’t no rush. Take your time.” The kind suds-slinger gives him a smile that redirects towards the other patrons in a practiced sweep, and Rhett closes his eyes. Turns his phone. 

Turns, turns, turns.

_ Fuckin’ stupid. I’m deluding myself. _

_ I didn’t _ want _ his number. _

_ Then why is it bothering me so much? _

Rhett sinks his forehead to rest in his free palm, grimacing into his own touch.

_ It’s simple. I’m straight, but I’m not heartless. _

_ I feel bad for using him and vanishing. _

_ I’m really not that kind of person. Well, except for that time with what’s-her-name, but that was different—she couldn’t even get me off. _

“I just wanna thank him, then?” Rhett asks himself, rubbing his temples with a slow shake of the head. But he’d thanked him right after, before he’d left—right? Hadn’t he? Shit, he can’t remember. What if he _ hadn’t? _

_ Is that _ really _ the reason I wanted his number? _

Yes. That’s it. 

But he’d chickened out, and for some goddamn reason, it’s _ all he’s been able to think about since. _Like a bug following him with its incessant buzzing, taking up every available inch of brainspace while he tries to shoo it away. At this rate, he’s going to flub up during more than just practice; it’s going to snowball and crash into other parts of his life the longer he ignores it. 

So, the simple solution—the obvious solution—is to find a way to talk to Link and thank him again. Or apologize for being so brief, or ask if he can… can buy him some porn or something, so that he can get off with Rhett’s help? That wouldn’t require ‘returning the favor’ physically. Rhett could buy him a video. That could be fine. Link had mentioned watching porn, after all.

_ But I still don’t have a way to contact him. _

_ I could ask around, if anyone knows— _

Rhett grumbles. The notion of even trying to track down a gay guy on campus by hearsay alone sounds like a death sentence. It would be too obvious. People would draw conclusions before Rhett had time to even blurt out an alibi; they’d see right through him.

_ How else am I supposed to find a dude by name and appearance alone? It’s not like phone books exist anymore. _

Wait a second.

Duh. Social media.

Snapping out of it, Rhett sits up and awakens his phone, fingers fumbling to open Facebook. Honestly, he hates Facebook—rarely goes on it except to see if people are talking about games—but it does come in handy, from time to time.

Only, he doesn’t know Link’s last name. 

Fine. He’ll just search his first name, and cross his fingers. 

Scrolling through the resulting hits of ‘Links’ who live near him, Rhett squints at each profile picture in turn: _ not him, not him, that’s a car, not him, that’s a baby, that’s—that could be him? _ It’s a silhouette shot of someone overlooking a scenic valley, but they’re faced away from the camera, and Rhett digs up a heavy sigh. None of these are conclusive. And he’s not about to fire off messages to a bunch of strangers: _ hey, did we meet at a party recently? _

That in itself would be damning, too.

Fuck. Why is this so difficult? There’s also the possibility that Link has his profile set to private, if he even _ has _ one. 

Closing the app, Rhett presses his phone against his lips and racks his brain.

There’s no other way to find him. Rhett’s out of leads.

Why is that so _ frustrating? _

Huffing, he sets his coaster on top of his drink and bows out to the bathroom. Maybe emptying his bladder will clear his head, too. 

The bar is crowded but thankfully not very noisy, so pardoning himself through the sea of people to get to the restrooms is easy enough. The smell of alcohol and cigarette smoke is replaced with that of piss, and his actions grow automated as he relieves himself at a urinal.

Rhett sighs and lets his eyes roam, scanning the tile at his feet and the mint green stalls that remind him of campus. How is he alone in here? The bar is busy, but this place feels… private? 

_ Link peering out of one of those stalls and looking at me with those eyes, glancing at the door to ensure no one’s coming in, beckoning me to join— _

Maybe Rhett’s mind’s not as clear as he’d like to think. He shudders the invasive thought away, biting the inside of his cheek and snapping his gaze to the wall. And it’s there that he sees it, written in black permanent marker above the porcelain fixture:

_ m4m? hmu @ 555... _

Rhett stares at the graffiti, his stillness belying the idea that careens into his brain and slams it flat.

There’s no chance in hell Rhett is going to chase a string of numbers like a cat batting a ball of yarn. It’s not the idea of _ any _ guy, it’s the idea of _ Link _ that’s so goddamn enticing. Shit, Rhett had been fine and secure with himself—hadn’t required the annoying mantra of _ I’m straight _—before he’d met Link. So it’s not the phone number itself that catches Rhett’s interest.

It’s the ‘m4m’. 

How could he have forgotten about hookup apps?

He could make a profile with as little information on it as possible and use it real quick to find Link. Ask him how he is, if he regrets it or whatever, then after all is said and done, just delete the app off his phone. It’s so simple… assuming no one looks over his shoulder while he’s out and recognizes the screen. He’s not _ famous _or anything like that, but people do stop him from time to time. Like at the party.

Rhett will just have to do this first part in private.

Washing his hands and heading into a stall, Rhett stands in front of the toilet and browses the app store on his phone. There’s one app that’s leagues more popular than the others, and without giving himself time to panic, he downloads it and taps his foot through the registration process: email, password. Name. Rhett hesitates before typing ‘Brett’.

_ What are you looking for? _ the app asks, and Rhett breathes out some relief when he sees that ‘friends’ is an option, but it’s quickly squashed when he considers that he might _ have _ to pick something more explicit in order to see Link’s profile. ‘Cause what if Link _ isn’t _on here for friends? This thing is meant for getting laid, right?

Assuming Link’s even on here in the first place. Rhett feels like an asshole, inferring a stereotype of sorts, but it’s born of desperation. He _ wants _Link to be on here.

_ I am a: man, seeking: men, for: dates. _Rhett stares at the selection and shakes his head in disbelief.

_ Upload a profile picture. _

Fat chance. 

Rhett rolls his eyes and taps open his camera, angling it at the floor and snapping a photo of his shoes on the bathroom tile. Black sneakers. Nothing incriminating there. In ten minutes, this app will be uninstalled, and none of these choices will matter anyway.

The screen refreshes and shows a grid of men staring at potential users, a collection of faces with alluring portraits, some showing enough skin to make Rhett flush. He’s out of his comfort zone._ Way _out of it. Dumped into cold water at the deep end of the swimming pool. He scans over the faces, and—

It takes all of one entire second of searching for him to locate Link, and Rhett’s heart promptly skips a beat.

Link’s photo is—well, it’s _ unmistakably _him, for one thing. But it’s also… 

Fuck, Link is gorgeous.

He’s spread out on a bed, shirtless, only visible from the collarbone up—but he’s got his knuckles relaxed against his cheek and is looking into the camera with a genuinely happy smirk that tickles his eyes. Those blue, _ blue _eyes. Seeing them again makes Rhett’s neck hot; they’re exactly as entrancing and ethereal as they are in his memory. 

_ Link, 21. _

He must get hit up _ so fucking much. _ He probably can’t even log on without a slew of messages. Just _ look at him! _

Rhett selects his profile. Link’s picture fills the screen, and Rhett’s gut instinct is to take a screenshot—but a paragraph of text loads and covers the image. 

(Good. He didn’t really want that pic on his phone, anyway.)

_ Not sure what I’m looking for, but I’ll know when I find it. ;) _ _  
_ _ More than just a pretty face. Slow the roll on sexting, please. _

Yep. Rhett had called it. 

But… does that mean he’s looking for something substantial? A relationship? Rhett glances at the icons on the side of the screen and barely thinks before nudging the ‘favorite’ button, highlighting a yellow star on Link’s shoulder. Best not to lose track of him, now that he’s found him.

_ I like cult classic films and classic country music, but I wouldn’t call myself ‘classy’. Lol _ _  
_ _ Love peanut butter, banged-up cars, and warm summer nights. _

Warm summer nights… their night on the porch had been a bit brisk. Link had still enjoyed it, though. Right? Rhett’s head floods with images of Link kissing his bicep and Link on his knees, subconscious trawling through that evening and gathering tipsy details until he has to blink them away to focus. This is _ not _the time or place. 

Quickly—he’d come here with a job to do, after all—Rhett taps the ‘chat’ icon and shoots off a message.

_ Hey Link. This is Rhett. From the party? _

No sooner had he sent it than he realizes Link doesn’t know _ why _Rhett has a profile on a connections app, and he panics and writes more.

_ Been looking for a way to contact you and this was a last resort lol. _ _  
_ _ Just wanted to see if you were doing okay I guess _

There. That should save face. It’s as good a conversation starter as any.

Just when he’s about to stow his phone and return to the bar—Link has better things to do, certainly—the messages shift from ‘unread’ to ‘read’, and Rhett’s heart forgets to beat as Link types. So fast! Had he checked his phone immediately?!

_ Rhett! Hey. Wow. _

_ This is the last place I’d expect to hear from you. _

Rhett huffs a chuckle and shakes his head, strangely grateful that his plan had worked; Link is talking to him. He’d found a way to contact him. Now he can get some closure or whatever on their run-in, and he won’t have to worry about this _ distracting _him any more. 

_ You and me both lol. _ _  
_ _ So you’ve been doing okay? _

_ Why? Been thinking about me? _

Souring, Rhett frowns at the playfulness. He can’t very well deny that, can he?

_ Obviously. Just wanted to make sure you were doing okay. _ _  
_ _ Also wanted to make sure I thanked you. _

_ You already thanked me, Rhett. :) _

_ Is that really what this is about? _

Fuck. God dammit, no, it’s not, but does he have to get called out like that? Ugh. The sooner Rhett’s honest with himself about the ‘closure’ he needs, the sooner he can put this entire thing behind him. He's doing it already. Link doesn’t have to be a fucking _ mind reader _about it. 

_ Maybe not. _

That’s all Rhett can handle until he knows Link is okay with talking about this. And if he’s not, that would probably be a blessing in disguise. Not like Rhett needs this shit, either.

_ Care to elaborate? _

Crap. Crap, crap, crap. 

This was supposed to be simple.

Reckoned with the task of asking _ one _question, Rhett stares at the screen for a long while… long enough for Link to send another message.

_ Rhett, I’m not going to tell anyone _  
_ that you made an account here, or _  
_ that you messaged me, or even what _  
_your motive is. _

_ Safe space. Remember? _

Rhett doesn’t _ need _ a safe space. He’s not like that, and he’s not some coward in need of protection. He can do this, and he’ll feel better afterwards. Shaking, he finally responds:

_ I just wanted to know if you took care of yourself that night. _

The time in between ‘read’ and a response is excruciating. Rhett chews his bottom lip and glares at their chat, willing it to update. It does.

_ You’re asking if I made myself cum after sucking you off…? _

Rhett is going to die. He’s going to combust from embarrassment and regret, and while he’s on fire he’s going to not only delete this app but also move to a different city and ditch his phone somewhere along the way. Hell, change his name, dye his hair, maybe a few tattoos just to seal the— 

_ Twice. It was a lot. _

Air leaves Rhett’s lungs in a quiet hush as he leans back against the stall door, face aflame, arms and neck searing. 

The words burn into him from the low-lit screen, branding him and feeding steam to the new heat in his stomach. The—the _ images _ that come with an admission like that. The thought of Link toying with himself over the course of hours, dripping wet and wrecked with it, no _ need _ for porn—instead, simply closing his eyes to think about Rhett in the same way Rhett had thought about—fuck. Had Link _ known _he would come twice…? Could he tell, was he just that ready for it? Had he kept stroking through the first load and just… 

Oh. Rhett’s leaving him on read, isn’t he? That’s awful telling. 

Fighting for a decent reply, he tries to keep it flippant in spite of the now-painful tightness of his jeans. 

_ Seriously? lol _  
_ Good. Glad to hear you got taken care of. _  
_That’s all. Sorry to bother you._

_ Not a bother. I like talking to you.  
Speaking of, are you in the bathroom? _

Rhett cools a little, and he nods to his phone with a self-degrading smile.

_ Yeah. Pic’s a dead giveaway huh? _

_ That too, but _

_ It says you’re 20 feet away, Rhett. _

_ Are you in the bathroom of Hoody’s??? _

**What**.

Rhett locks up, staring at the messages in the fearful hopes he’d misread them—Legos his brain had failed to stack together correctly. But no matter how much he panics and frets, the words don’t change, and in a daze, Rhett taps back to examine Link’s profile. 

There it is. Somehow, he’d missed it.

_ 18 ft away. _ Right there under Link’s name. Holy _ shit, _this thing tells you the exact distance between?!

He can’t—he can’t just _ vanish _ mid-convo, can he? How the fuck—Link had been in Hoody’s this entire time, and Rhett hadn’t even bothered to _ look around _ for the person he’d been hoping to contact?! Not that he'd have had the guts to just waltz up to him, but somehow this is worse. This is _ so _much worse, to be caught in a public bathroom sneaking onto apps like this. 

Swallowing, he slowly clicks into their chat and types with numb fingers.

_ I am _

_ Stay there. _

Oh, _ Christ. _ An unwelcome flurry of panic and thrill rushes through Rhett’s limbs, and he becomes self-aware again—he’s still hard, he’s holed up in a stall, he hasn’t showered since last night, he isn’t even sure he _ looks _all that nice, and Link is going to be here any second. Link is going to walk through that door and be next to him again, in the flesh, standing close and looking up at him. 

Rhett needs to run.

“Rhett?” comes the voice from the door, through the noise beyond, and all intention of leaving drains from his system. Awkward and quiet, Rhett pushes his phone into his pocket and unlocks the stall to peer out. Sure enough, there he is.

As unrightfully stunning as he was the first time Rhett had laid eyes on him. 

In a form-fitting red print t-shirt and dark skinny jeans, Link enters the bathroom and smiles at him, leaning back against the door. His slightly-crooked grin, his bright eyes, the soft hair that screams _ touch me _as loudly as the rest of him does.

“Hey. Didn’t mean to scare you.”

He seems relaxed enough; maybe he’s had a few drinks tonight. But the pink of his cheeks could also be from dancing or… something. 

Clearing his throat, Rhett bows his head and steps out of the stall, keeping a safe distance from the man across the room. “You’re fine. I, uhh… didn’t realize that app gave out your location.”

“Oh. I made this weird, then, huh?” Link frowns and nods, but it dissolves quickly as he meanders over to the sinks. Just a _ bit _closer; not cornering. “You’d better delete it, then. I’m sure some basketball fans would stalk you if they could put two and two together.”

“Hah. Maybe,” Rhett warbles. He’s handling this fine. Definitely not listening to the part of his brain screaming filthy daydreams at him. He can hold a normal conversation in a bathroom with a guy. He does it with his teammates all the time. It’s normal.

Only… Link isn’t just _ any _guy. That had been the whole point of reaching out, right?

“I guess I just wanted to tell you that it was… kinda sweet, that you were thinking about me.” Link turns to the sinks but keeps his gaze level, watching Rhett in the mirror. Eye contact is easier this way, somehow. Less intense than if it were direct. “Thanks for being so considerate. Most straight guys just… run for the hills.”

“Y-You—” Rhett catches his curiosity and tamps it down, rubbing his neck. “You’ve done that with other straight guys?”

“No. I just meant in general, straight guys don’t like being around ‘queers’.”

“Oh. Right.” Guilt nicks Rhett’s neck (_I wanted to run too, didn't I?_) and he nods. “Sorry.”

“No need to be sorry.” The corners of Link’s mouth tug up—a tiny shift that renders Rhett speechless, given his perfect lips—and he huffs a laugh. “Okay then. I’ll leave you alone. Should’ve known better than to track you down, honestly. Not sure why I felt the need to, but it won’t happen again.” And just like that, he’s turning and heading for the door, throwing a hand over his shoulder in a wave.

And it’s far too familiar, jolts Rhett into action; he’s _ not _going to have a repeat of last time.

“Link. Can I have your phone number?”

Link stops and spins, the surprise on his face endearing and… _ cute. _“What? Really?”

“You can say ‘no’.” Rhett blathers, “I just—I dunno, I think you’re cool and you’re a nice guy. I think we’d make good… friends… or whatever. If you wanted to, uh, hang out sometime.” It’s laughably weak reasoning and falls all over the place, but Link doesn’t look amused. He simply considers Rhett with a calm air before pacing back to him.

Link holds out his hand. “Give me your phone.”

Rhett does as he’s told, watching in something akin to amazement as Link adds himself to Rhett’s contacts. Without asking for permission, he then shoots himself a text and smiles victoriously when his pocket buzzes.

“And now I have your number,” Link beams, and Rhett would _ love _to get over feeling like a deer in headlights.

“Right. Thanks.”

“You’re gonna text me, right?” Link asks, looking up at Rhett with eyes mesmerizing through and through. It’s by luck alone that Rhett remembers how to form words in the face of that sort of attention. Coy, yet kind. Is everything Link does flirty on purpose, or is he just naturally that charming and self-assured? He carries himself with a confidence that Rhett can only hope to replicate on the court, and damn, if that doesn’t have a way of getting under Rhett’s skin. To just live that way, unabashed?

“Yeah. I’ll text you.” 

_ Definitely. Probably later tonight, if I know me. Fuck. _

“Good.” Link moves to the door and pushes, revealing the rest of the bar patrons dancing in the dark to a popular song. He pauses just long enough to turn and smile at Rhett. “I’ll be waiting.”

And then Rhett is alone again. Almost like he’d _ dreamed _Link.

Wave after wave of shock seeps out through Rhett’s shoes into the cold bathroom tile until he’s able to look at his phone. The text log is still open. The recipient—_ Link Neal— _has been sent a short and simple text to himself from Rhett’s phone:

_ Don’t forget. _

Sweating and running a hand through his small beard, Rhett screws his eyes shut and sees Link in every corner of his mind.

Like he could _ possibly _forget.


	3. Intentions

Wind pushes through the streets to lift dirt and dust, from which Rhett hides in his elbow. Leaning against the red brick building, he drums his heel on the sidewalk with an impatient jiggle and passes wary glimpses up and down the way. Still alone—which is ideal, normally, but that’s part of the problem, isn't it? He’s envisioned this situation in his head dozens of times over and still can’t come to terms with the fact that he’ll be walking in with _ Link. _

Seems like it implies more than it should. 

Where’s he at, anyway? Rhett pulls out his phone and checks it again. Nothing new. The most recent message is an update received ten minutes ago:

_ Be there soon! _

No sign of him, though. How soon is ‘soon’? 

Absently, Rhett thumbs to the top of their chat log. It had been around midnight by the time he’d figured out something to say to Link. Those two words—_ Don’t forget _—had felt like a challenge. Something for which he needed to stretch prior to tackling.

_ Don’t forget. _

_ You really think I’d forget after asking for your number? lol _

_ You’re up late! _

_ Oh, that text was meant for me. _

_ I know. You sent it to yourself. _

_ No, I meant it was a reminder for me. _

_ I wanted to ask you something, but _ _  
_ _ you seemed a little overwhelmed at _  
_Hoody’s. I didn’t want to make it worse._

Even now, that text sends an echo of adrenaline through him. The fear, the anticipation, the roiling in his stomach when he’d read it the first time… the piqued excitement. But anyone would’ve been excited; Link is a cool person. Friendly, attractive, funny. Being seen as his friend is a hell of a prospect. Good to remember, when—again—they’re about to walk into this thing together.

_ I was fine. Just a little surprised. _ _  
_ _ What’s up? _

_ There’s another party tomorrow night at Rachel’s. _ _  
_ _ We’re gonna play games, hang out. Junk like that. _ _  
_ _ I asked around and no one invited Gregg, so I _  
_figured you might not know about it._

_ You wanna come with? _

Rhett stares at the message. Wills down the associations and flawed implications so he can keep reading, to where Link had sobered him up right quick.

_ I dunno, man. Maybe. _

_ It’s just an invitation. You can say ‘no’. _

_ I was hoping you’d come as a friend. _ _  
_ _ We talked last time, right? _ _  
_ _ Before things escalated? _  
_We hit it off, I thought._

_ I promise I’m not trying to get into your  
pants again. Lol. I know when to stop. _

Rhett hadn’t mentioned that it isn’t _ Link _he doesn’t trust—nor had he acknowledged the very real surge of disappointment at that final promise. 

Good, you know? This is the way things are _supposed _to go. Whatever the fuck’s been dancing around in Rhett’s psyche has to stop. Nothing’s ever going to come of it; Link just looks like an Adonis and had somehow gotten under Rhett’s skin in just the right way. Besides, even if Rhett _were_ gay—which, no—Link is out of his league. It would be a disservice, for Link to be with him.

So why hadn’t that rhetoric stopped him from saying ‘yes'?

_ Like I’d let that happen again anyway lol. _

_ Sure, I’ll come with you. Games sound fun. _

_ Great! I’ll meet you out front of Rachel’s at 8. _

_ Unless you’d rather head in alone? _

And there, Rhett had been presented with another opportunity for distance—and again, he isn’t sure why he’d answered the way he had.

_ 8 sounds good. See you then. _

It’s 8:14 now.

Rhett pockets his phone and a shadow slides into his periphery, startling him into an awkward yelp.

“Whoa. Someone’s on edge.”

Rhett groans and glances Link over. “Don’t _ do _that.”

“Do what? Walk on the sidewalk? My bad,” Link shuffles from foot to foot and shrugs, luminous smile brighter than the streetlights. “It’s in the name, so I figured I was within my rights.”

Link’s as alluring as he always is. Rhett’s just gonna have to get used to that, isn’t he? Doesn’t matter what he’s wearing, or if he’s ‘done-up’ or freshly shaved, clothed or barren like in his profile pic. He’s always precisely flawless. Tonight, he’s wearing a red collared zip-up over his shirt. Seems unnecessary with how mild it is tonight, but who is Rhett to judge?

“You’re pretty late, captain sarcastic.”

“Had to put on my face. Perfection takes time.”

Rhett cocks an eyebrow. “You wear makeup?” _M__akes sense, how pretty he is. _

“No. Joking, again. I’m just bad at gettin’ places on time.” Link scratches his nose. “You look nice. I was worried you might always wear your jersey to parties. Happy to see I was wrong.”

Rhett clocks his own outfit: a gray shirt with yellow cracks in the design and tan cargo shorts, cigarettes stowed safely inside. Not that he’ll need them, of course. No indulging tonight. 

“Don’t talk trash. That jersey’s a good conversation starter.”

“Fair enough.” Link smirks and tugs on Rhett’s sleeve with a head jerk to the building. “You ready?”

That small touch is invasive. Link had said he had no plans to pursue Rhett? Well, he should keep his hands to himself, then. “Yeah,” Rhett states, shrugging him off. “Let’s go.”

Link takes the lead and lets them into the building, his steps light on the carpeted staircase. Rhett watches the heels of his spotless white shoes and can’t help but think about how people are going to react to Link entering the apartment first. Wouldn’t that make it seem like he was Link’s, like… plaything, or whatever? Boy-toy? Shouldn’t _ he _go first? No one would assume anything that way. But then again, Link had invited him… No, yeah, Link should go first. Rhett will just hang back a bit. Make the difference between them as obvious as possible.

Fuck, he needs a drink. He’s not _ supposed _to drink per his new self-mandate—but this is going to be a hell of an evening without any alcohol in his stomach. They aren’t even inside yet and already Rhett’s regretting accepting the invitation.

When they get to the only door on the top floor of the building, Link lets himself in without knocking, and a chorus of cheers erupts from within.

“Ayyy, Link!”

“Linkypoo!!” 

“Now the party can really start!”

_ Linkypoo? _

Wait—are they late? Had Link intentionally given him the wrong time so they could barge in on a party already in full swing? Okay, that’s… actually, Rhett appreciates that.

They step into the abode and it looks much the same as it had last time, with its tie-dyed crimson tapestries, threadbare rug protecting the already-scratched floor from the coffee table, and furniture mismatched like old quilt squares. Everyone—the group of about a dozen—is gathered around the table, and at a glance Rhett vaguely recognizes the drinking game. A deck of cards in the middle with a beer.

Judging by the person-to-can ratio? Yep, they’re fashionably late.

“Hey guys,” Link sings, hailing a thumb over his shoulder. “I brought Rhett. Y’all remember Rhett.”

“Oh, sure!” The voice belongs to a tall fellow whose slight face rings a bell. Ah. It’s the guy who’d inadvertently insulted the entire team. _ Right. _“Hey, man! How are ya?”

Past transgressions aside, it’s undeniably nice to feel welcomed. “Good, thanks. Nice to see y’all again.” Rhett shuts the front door, ignoring the dawdling gazes on him to watch Link stride into the kitchen. He removes his coat—tosses it onto one of the stools at the small counter—and helps himself to a free-range beer from the red cooler.

“You want one?” Link calls over the din of chatter that’s broken out, and when he turns, Rhett sees his shirt for the first time.

It’s black with white blocky text on the chest that yells _ Proud, _ surrounded by a circular rainbow splash like flecked paint. Vivid and eye-catching, it wrenches Rhett’s stomach in a particular way he can’t pinpoint well. Cold, uncomfortable. _ Worried_. 

That’s why he’d bundled up in a jacket, isn’t it? So that no one would see that rainbow on his walk here. A lone man walking alone at night in a southern state, wearing that, but having to hide it until he was in a private space. His existence comes with stipulations, and no amount of headlines reporting terrorist attacks and hate crimes could have ever prepared Rhett to witness precautions in-person. _Link's _precautions. That makes it real. Makes it... scarier, to have a face to go with the idea.

Rhett isn't entirely sure how to feel about that, honestly. Would he prefer Link be himself, or would he prefer Link stay safe?

“I don’t know,” Rhett responds after some time, hot and cold and words sounding strange. 

Link ducks his head, curious. “No? You can always get one later, if you want.”

“Yeah.” Tapping his toe to his heel, Rhett bobs his head. “I shouldn’t drink.”

Link makes his way back, only coming within speaking distance to add, “Hope you don’t mind if I do, then,” and takes a seat at the only open space at the table—effectively grouping himself with everyone else. 

Singled out, Rhett hesitates before sidling over to the only free “seat” in the form of the couch’s arm. He perches awkwardly next to the host, Rachel, and settles in to watch the drinking game unfold.

Some of these folks are already pretty drunk. Conversation flows freely and easily between them, ribbing in-jokes and even out-jokes that Rhett suspects he misses due to, ahem, culture clash. But their good mood is infectious, and although he stays quiet, he finds himself chuckling along to the communal sense of camaraderie. They’re all so _ close. _Like they’ve been friends since childhood. The air’s not all that different from Rhett’s team’s get-togethers. Maybe that’s why he surprises himself, able to relax as minutes turn to an hour without one drink.

Yeah. People are just _ people, _regardless of their traits.

Through time alone, Rhett learns some of their names: mystery-tall-guy is Christopher; Aubrey is the redhead whose tattoos finally jog his memory of their first brief meeting; there’s a meek person with a pleasing laugh, whose gender Rhett can’t really determine, but their name is Cory; a girl with vitiligo (he thinks is the word?) and Youtube-worthy eye makeup named Elm; and another girl bedecked in so many gaudy 90’s accessories that she looks like a time-traveler. That's Katie.

It’s a hell of a group. So diverse. Except for Rhett, maybe. He can’t help but feel plain_ , _in comparison. They’re all living so authentically, just being themselves. So who's Rhett, when he’s not wearing his number?

He’s… _ this, _he guesses. A lost nobody at a party, quiet and aside.

“Okay,” Rachel announces, going to slap the arm of the chair and nearly hitting Rhett’s thigh in the process. She’d forgotten he was there. Can’t blame her. “I’m officially drunk enough for the next game. Who’s with me?”

“Is it what I think it is?”

“Wait, wait—do we even—what’s everyone drinking? We need a—the thing!”

“Oh, hell yeah! I am _game_ for this game!”

Having missed a memo, Rhett wallflowers through the process of everyone pushing the furniture this way and that, forming a near-perfect circle around the table. The empty beers are shepherded out, all save for one; a Corona bottle, selected and set in the middle of the array ceremoniously. 

_ Wait a second. Are they really…? _

“Spiiiin the bottle,” Christopher sings, leaning back against the foot of the couch and throwing both hands in the air victoriously. “Woo! Who’s ready to show some looove?” 

Okay—Rhett’s not playing. 

In an attempt to announce this he stands and bee-lines to the stools at the counter, hoisting himself onto the one beside Link’s coat and crossing his arms. No one can _ force _him to kiss anyone here, and luckily, they don’t seem intent to.

Rhett’s scan over the group catches the tail-end of Link watching him from the floor—expressionless—but just as quickly, Link breaks the gaze and smiles at his conspirators.

He’s into it, then? Also fine. Should be interesting, at least. Link will have a good night.

Rhett’s leg bounces on the rung of the stool and he shoots a glimpse at the cooler in the kitchen floor. Dammit, he _ really _shouldn’t. He’d promised himself. But it’s a grating test of will when someone asks, “Who wants to go first? Who’s the youngest?” and Cory throws up their hands gleefully. Rhett pulls out his phone and misses whoever volunteers, “Oooh, I hope it lands on me!”

Sure, being this detached is like placing a giant neon sign over his head saying _I'm a dick_. But Link hadn’t told Rhett _ this _was one of the games they’d be playing tonight. Now this whole thing just seems like a damn trap. 

Scowling through the noise of glass scrawling on wood, Rhett stares at his home screen and flips through his apps. The hookup one is still there. He really needs to uninstall it. No better time than the present. After all, he’d gotten Link’s number, and is kinda regretting it at the moment.

The jeers and cheers continue, and Rhett’s choice of ignorance pays off—only letting his eyes flick up to catch the pairings, but not the kisses. Ridiculous. Like being at a middle school party. How long can this possibly go on, anyway? It’s not even a drinking game. They’re just swapping spit. Juvenile.

“Alright, Linkypoo—your turn!” someone chimes loudly, and Rhett’s thumb hovers over the Reddit thread he’s not really reading. “Give that bottle a spin, baby!”

The marbled drone of glass starts again, and Rhett can’t help it. He looks up.

Link is on his knees, hands on either side of the table and smiling at the spinning bottle like it’s about to tell him a joke. That rainbow shirt, and that hair hanging down in his face, the gentle curve of his lips—lips that are about to meet someone else’s, right there in front of everybody.

Rhett snaps his focus to the bottle.

_ One of the girls, _ he wills it, though he knows it doesn’t matter. Link’s about to kiss someone right in front of him without a care in the world. Still... _ Any of the girls. _

The bottle comes to a creeping stop to the soundtrack of giddy squeals, and god _ dammit _if it doesn’t stop on Christopher; the only person here who could give Rhett a run for his money in the build and height department. Figures.

It happens in slow-motion: Link’s head tilts back to follow the neck of the bottle, his smile widens into a grin when he sees his new fated partner, he climbs to a stand to close the distance between them, and Christopher looks like he just won the lottery.

“I’m gonna—need a cigarette,” Rhett announces in an accidentally-booming voice, startling the room into still silence. This includes Link, who’s hovering over Christopher, frozen and eyes wide on Rhett. Without waiting for confirmation, Rhett puts on blinders and somehow makes it to the backdoor. 

But blinders don’t protect him from giggles and comments.

“Whoa. _ That’s _ not telling.”

“That’s the first thing Rhett’s said all night.”

“Is he okay…?”

He’s fine, he reminds himself when the door slams shut behind him. Just doesn’t wanna see dudes kissing, is all. Is that so bad? He needs a cigarette, is _that_ so bad? But where he’d thought distance would make things easier, the sight of the porch—and the memories that come with it—sour him further. 

Fitful, he wants to anchor his attention on something, and notes his surroundings anew. Objectively. Had there always been a picnic table out here? Had the street always stretched so far below, had it been this dark out the first time he’d been here? Shit, it doesn’t matter. He needs to leave as soon as he’s done with nicotine.

Rhett wrests his pack out of his pocket and rips it open as he takes a seat. So dumb. Why the fuck are his fingers shaking? He fumbles, dropping the lighter and swearing around the unlit smoke when he leans over to retrieve it. 

One click. Two clicks. The flame isn’t catching.

“Come _ on,” _Rhett growls, temper flaring each time his efforts are rewarded with mocking sparks.

The back door squeaks open, and it shuts again before his visitor speaks.

“Rhett.”

“Hmm.” 

Click. Click. Click.

Link moves out of the shadowed awning and into the lamplight, orange and looking way, way too much like the last time they’d been out here together. “Are you okay?” he asks, softer than before, but not a trace apologetic, Rhett notes.

Which, Link _should _be apologetic. To invite him here and spring a fucking _adult __kissing game _on him, and expect him to be cool? What, to just _go along_ with it? That would be fucked up by anyone’s standards, sexuality aside!

“‘M fine.”

Click. Click. Click.

“Stop that,” Link demands calmly, taking the lighter from Rhett’s fingers. Rhett lets him. 

The fire in his throat dies and he fixes his stare past Link, hunched forward on his knees.

“Give me that, too.” Link points to the cigarette in Rhett’s lips, and with a grumble, Rhett plucks it and replaces it in the pack, an upturned palm requesting his lighter back.

“I won’t smoke.”

Link returns it and simply stands there, filling Rhett’s field of vision, arms limp at his sides.

“Can I help you?” Rhett wonders aloud, shoving his bad habit back in his pocket.

“Why are you mad?” Link inquires without hesitation, and Rhett snorts a huff.

“You dragged me here knowing I'd be kissed by a stranger? Knowing I'd have to watch you make out with your friends? You tell _ me _why I’m mad.”

“‘Cause you’re jealous.” 

The fuck…?! Link sounds so sure of himself, and some residual bite finds Rhett. “I’m not. That’s stupid.”

“Is it?” Like a patient teacher dealing with a problem student, Link rests his hands on his hips, framing his pride shirt. Rhett looks away from the exhibition, out over the neighborhood.

“Why would I be jealous? You can neck with whoever you want.”

“Funny, ‘cause if you’d actually been _ watching _instead of panicking and buried in your phone, you would’ve seen that we weren’t actually kissing.”

“Whuh… what?” Finally, Rhett peers up at him, and Link is wearing a shit-eating smirk. 

“We kiss each other on the cheek, or the nose, or the back of the hand, Rhett.” That cocky smile paired with the blindingly-annoying patience Link emanates is the _ worst _ kind of scrutiny under which Rhett could absorb this information. “It’s a thing we came up with a while back. Some of us don’t have great home lives, so we show platonic affection to each other. _ We’re _each other’s families. It’s a silly little way to let us feel loved.”

Oh.

“And if you’d looked up from Grindr, you would’ve noticed that right away,” Link tacks on with a shoulder raise, and Rhett roils, stomach ill.

“I still wouldn’t have played! I don’t need people kissing my—my hands, and crap. I’ve got a supportive family.”

“Good for you.” Link fires it off like a fucking marksman, incapacitating and near-lethal. “So explain why you would get so mad about friends kissing each other’s cheeks_ , _then.”

Chagrined, all Rhett can do is swallow, seeing only the nearest street light past Link’s sternly gripped hip. He doesn’t have an answer for that. But apparently, Link’s willing to hold; he stays quiet as well, waiting for the pot to boil.

The turmoil in Rhett’s stomach reaches an uncomfortable pitch, the would-be steam of that pot clinging in his throat and coalescing into a sticky lump he tries to gulp away. It doesn’t help. _ Smoke _ would help, but his lighter doesn’t work.

Why doesn’t his lighter work? Fuck this “indulgence ban.”

Those goddamn blue eyes always pierce right through him, anyway.

“Did you kiss him?” Rhett breathes, brow breaking into injury, and Link’s hold on his waist softens visibly.

“On the forehead. Christopher’s a good friend of mine.”

“Ah,” Rhett whispers, and hands find his shoulders and guide him to lean back.

Before protest is possible—or even before Rhett understands what’s happening—Link is lowering into his lap, sitting across him sideways and bringing an arm over Rhett’s shoulder. He does it so naturally, so fluidly, and they’re suddenly so _ close. _

Rhett can’t move. Could, but can’t_. _ Link’s full weight is in his lap. The whiffs of cologne Rhett gets are perfectly tailored to who Link is, almost believable as a natural musk if not for the hint of spice it carries. The stretch of Rhett’s thighs where his shorts aren’t long enough to cover, _damn these long legs_, are exposed to the denim of Link’s butt, able to feel his heft. Worst of all is how near and touchable Link’s slender waist is; exactly grabbing-level, their pelvises close. He would be so maneuverable and warm and—

Wrong. The worst part by _ far _is when Rhett dares to look up, and Link’s soft sky eyes are watching him with fond, low lids. Rhett’s chest fills with something, sharp and light and unstable.

“No one here is ever gonna judge you, you know,” Link murmurs, gaze roaming through Rhett’s hair. “I know you’re used to being on edge. I can tell. But no one here’s gonna judge you. Ever.”

“They already did,” Rhett chuckles humorlessly, voice airy. “I heard them.”

“But they weren’t trying to be cruel. It’s because they’ve been in your shoes.” 

A promise that soft shouldn’t cut so deep. 

Rhett digs his hands into the table’s bench, knuckles flexing white. _ Stay. _“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he mumbles.

Link hums, thoughtful—undoubtedly loading another verbal bullet into his gun—and Rhett swears he can feel Link’s heartbeat in the tight space between them. Or maybe that’s his own. Why is he letting this happen, Link sitting in his lap? Why is he _ okay _with this?

“Can I ask you a question?” Link says, and that’s another bullseye. Right in the fear center of Rhett’s brain.

Steeling himself one request late, he nods.

“Why do you wanna keep seeing me, Rhett?” 

Unbearably tender. No lining of bitterness or exasperation. Just an imploration, gentle, and Rhett closes his eyes against it and imagines what a kiss on the forehead must feel like. If it’s anything like that tone.

“What do you mean?” Rhett isn’t sure Link can hear him, but Link rubs a thumb against Rhett’s shoulder blade.

“You called me terrifying.”

“You _ are.” _

“You kissed me.”

“Once.”

“You let me get you off.”

_ “Once.” _

“You found me on an app just to talk to me. You agreed to come to this party with me. You stormed out when you thought I was going to kiss someone.”

Rhett can’t answer for those charges. He bites his bottom lip, and—unable to resist any longer—lets himself have one thing. Just one, and it will make this easier; he leans into Link’s chest, eyes still closed, cheek on Link’s collarbone. He soaks in his warmth and scent, accepts the goosebumps that spill down his neck and arms for what they are: pleasurable. A drug too addictive to resist.

Link hums again, and this time it’s a round, full sound.

“So… do you know what you want from me? Given all of that?” he asks again, and the hand at Rhett’s back falls away. Rhett keeps his eyes closed, waiting, and Link collects Rhett’s tight hands from the bench and places them on his waist.

Permission. 

Not needy or suggestive. Calm, and allowing, and Rhett shivers, assuring his grip on Link and pulling their bodies closer before he can stop himself. His thumbs circle the lovely protrusions of Link’s hip bones, and Rhett caves further, angling his head to press his nose into Link’s neck.

This same skin, Rhett had once licked and sucked without a second thought. He’d been so brave.

“I don’t know,” he answers after far too long, weak and muffled. 

It’s Link’s turn to tremble, and need hits Rhett in a hot flash; he kills a growl before it can find the night air.

Link swallows—his Adam’s apple bobbing against Rhett’s lips—and asks, “Do you want me to kiss you? Kiss you the same way you thought I’d kissed Christopher?”

And if the stars above and very air between them can handle the weight of a question like that without collapsing? Rhett will pile on, too. Nothing to lose. Link won’t judge him, even if others here might.

“Yes,” he admits in a whisper, trailing his hands up Link’s sides to savor him. “But please don’t.”

To Rhett's surprise, Link shakes with a silent chuckle, and a hand finds the back of Rhett’s head, stroking through his hair. “I won’t, then.”

_ But he would, if you asked. _

Pushing the thought down takes every last ounce of self-restraint in Rhett's body. Laughable, that he'd thought saying no to a _ cigarette _was draining. “Can we… stay like this for a minute, though?”

That would be enough. A good substitute for not getting more. Link in his lap—all his, just for a little while. Rhett can pretend he’s drunk and making all the same mistakes again. He can enjoy this much, without worrying about repercussions of someone seeing or obsessing over it in the future. 

On this porch, overlooking the city with no one around, Link is his. Just for a few minutes.

Link nods, agreeing to Rhett’s silent terms. 

“Sure. If you’re comfortable with it. I like this.”

“Yeah… me too.”

“I like _ you.” _

“You don’t really know me,” Rhett huffs, cheeks tingling.

“No? I know you’re resourceful and funny, and sensitive. And that you’re tall and handsome and that these arms make me feel safe.”

Are there drinks inside that are non-alcoholic? Some cold water would be great. Dumped over Rhett’s head.

“I don’t really know _ you, _either,” he tries out, the different approach only making Link wiggle in his lap with another laugh.

“Then we should hang out. Just the two of us next time. Would that be okay with you?”

Sirens go off in Rhett’s head, only dulled when he takes a deep inhale of Link’s cologne. “Not like _ this, _if that’s what you mean.”

“No. Just as friends. Not as… whatever _ this _is, anyway.” 

The reminder seems to make Link shift, and he wraps his arms around Rhett’s shoulders in an encompassing hug. Is he…? Is he dreading the end of this as much as Rhett is? That’s insane. Link is soft and sexy and—_ shit, _not sexy. He’s… 

Fuck it. Link is sexy. He’d been sexy at the first party and again at the bar and still is, here in Rhett’s arms. There’s no use denying the undeniable. Every damn time Rhett sees him—_ thinks _ about him, for fuck’s sake, it’s inconvenient and usually winds up with him sweating into his sheets, fighting through a paragraph of information on a dating profile to see a photo, but also reading the words every few seconds because after all, Link's "more than just a pretty face". 

“As friends,” Rhett decides, circling back to the half-invitation. “Fine. No touching.”

“No touching,” pledges Link, feigning a raised hand in scout’s honor.

Rhett’s lips tug up in a small smile at the thought of having Link to himself elsewhere, even with distance between. He’s a cool person, beneath that cocktease exterior. “Where would we go?”

“Hmm.” Link drums his fingers on Rhett’s shoulders, and each little rap is a knock on the door of Rhett’s consciousness. _ You’re alive, you’re alive, you’re alive. _“Oh! I have a follow-up appointment in a few days. The piercing and tattoo parlor, downtown.” Link rests his head atop Rhett’s as the blonde thinks about that tongue stud and tries not to let the betrayal in his pants worsen—a Herculean task, with Link in his lap. “Kinda weird, but do you wanna go?”

Rhett counts Link’s heartbeats through his lips. Best not to seem _ stupidly _eager, even though he is. “If I don’t have practice that day, sure.”

“Cool! I’ll text you the details. Would you rather me drive, or…?”

“I can drive us,” Rhett rumbles.

And without meaning to in the slightest—as natural as nature comes—he kisses the underside of Link’s jaw. A swift but soft peck that immediately wrenches him into horrified stillness.

Link doesn’t move, either.

“Sorry.” Rhett retracts his hands, breathless. “I didn’t mean to.”

“It’s okay,” Link whispers—also winded?—and the urge to grab him and kiss him for all he’s worth assaults Rhett. If that small of a chaste kiss had done _that _to Link sober, what would one with _intent _behind it do? How much power is Rhett holding over him, this—this ludicrously attractive man who had apparently cum twice to the thought of servicing Rhett and—

And where the _ fuck _had that kiss come from in the first place?! Lust is—it doesn’t— 

“No kissing me when we hang out,” Link cuts in, severing Rhett’s internal crisis.

“Duh. I... I won’t.”

But he hadn’t meant to, to begin with.


	4. Will You, Won't You?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter includes a light description of getting a piercing. If that sort of thing makes you queasy, read with caution! ❤

The truck locks with a bleating honk, and the pair meet by its burning grill shoulder-to-shoulder. _ Warlock’s, _ reads the sign at the end of the shopping center, _ Tattoos & Body Piercings. _

“S’kind of a hole, ain’t it?” mutters Rhett, side-eyeing Link. 

“From the outside, maybe. But you’ll see.”

The sky’s darker than Rhett is comfortable with for a seedy trip like this, yet Link bobs across the dim lot with ease. Apparently nothing fazes the guy; even on the ride here, Rhett’s heart had hiccuped in time with potholes as Link had chatted more than a person with a healing hole in their tongue should’ve. (Small-talk, mostly: he’d eaten peanut butter cereal for dinner and been spared Rhett’s judgment that he should feed himself better.)

At least one of them is confident. Rhett trails along after, hands buried in his mesh shorts’ pockets, thumbing the haphazard torn plastic sleeve of his pack of smokes. At this point it’s more a security blanket than anything. 

Link hops up to the front door and throws it open wide with a jingle, his red tank top pulling tight across his lower back with the motion and begging Rhett’s eye even while he nods in thanks.

And yeah—the inside of the parlor is _ much _nicer than the outside. Premonitions of graffiti’d walls and a skinhead biker with chaw tucked in his lip are obliterated by the reality of soft eggshell blue walls and clean, relatively-minimalist displays. The decor is somewhere between Asian and Native American influence, and Rhett finds himself inspecting a neatly arranged line of Buddha statues on a shelf until a man takes his place behind the counter.

“Welcome to—ah, Link!” Their greeter is a man with a young but staunch face and bars set through the tops of his ears, peeking out from shaggy blonde hair. He offers them a kind smile and Link waves, waltzing up to the counter easily.

“Hey, Frank.”

“You brought a friend,” Frank observes, bowing his head amicably to Rhett. “That’s a first.”

“This is Rhett.” The introduction happens seamlessly, and Rhett doesn’t really know how to follow through with it in this situation. A hand-shake? Taking a business card from the rack on the counter? But Link doesn’t wait, so maybe it ain’t that formal. “You ready?”

“Yeah, soon as Lee finishes up, we can head back.”

“Talkin’ about me?” A tiny girl with enough jewelry to Gulliver her to the ground joins them, followed by a middle-aged woman holding a cupped hand over her ear. “Go on, then. I’ll watch the desk.”

Purely a bystander, Rhett stays quiet as Frank beckons Link. They walk down the counter in unison and Frank steps out to join him, heading to a side room that Link’s already anticipating. “You coming, Rhett?” Link asks, pausing before the door, and Rhett perks up.

“Do you… _ want _ me to?”

“I mean. You don’t have to stand out here,” Link laughs, glancing around the lobby. 

Eh. Why not? Rhett shrugs and heads after. It’ll be weird to watch a guy check Link’s tongue like a doctor, but definitely more engaging than staring at a line of Native totems like appropriated Russian nesting dolls. Or mid-life crisis refugees with fresh ear piercings, giddy ‘cause they’re “wild” now.

The room Frank works out of is pretty big, complete with two chairs separated by a courtesy half-wall. Posters boasting dated horror movies and snuff films—glass skulls and signed photos of people Rhett doesn’t recognize (_W_ _ ho’s Tom Savini? _ ) and tiny iridescent sculptures of dragons—this is _ definitely _this guy Frank’s space. Like having a nameplate in an office. 

The barber-style recliner faces a large mirror, and Rhett glances at his own reflection. A square sticker on the glass covers his other self’s hip: blue, with a yellow “equals” sign on it. He’s seen it before, but isn’t sure what it means. Probably a world peace organization or some junk. Would make sense why Link chose this guy to pierce him.

The script in Rhett’s head—of Link taking a seat and waiting for instructions—it isn’t fulfilled. Instead, Frank slips on a pair of gloves and fetches a small spray bottle and swab from a table of equipment. Idle, Link stands and waits, patting his thigh in some mental tune.

Whatever’s in that bottle is unfortunate. Won’t taste good.

“You know the drill by now,” Frank grins, swiping a single finger upwards at Link. “Let’s see.”

On command, Link grabs the hem of his shirt and _ flashes him? _

But he holds the pose, tank bunched in curled fingers near his collarbone like a girl from a Gone Wild porno, and Rhett’s brain is tripping hurdles to catch up to the scene while Frank leans in and hums, his face inches from Link’s bare chest.

“Yeah,” Frank laughs, cocking his head in numerous angles to get a good look. “Almost fully healed. Looks good. I knew you’d take care of ‘em, though. If _ anyone _would, you would.”

_ What? _

“Thanks,” chuckles Link with a shrug. “Still, thought ‘better safe than sorry’, you know?”

Rhett’s invisible—and when his neurons finally lend a goddamn hand and connect the obvious dots, he’s _ glad _no one’s looking at him. 

Link has nipple piercings.

_ Link has nipple piercings. _

This entire time, Rhett had been operating under the assumption that this check-up was for his _ tongue, _ but—then, if _ that _were still healing, Link probably wouldn’t have been able to— 

Fuck, Link’s _ nipples are pierced?! _Why is that the worst news Rhett’s heard in a long time?!

With their attention diverted, it’s physically impossible for Rhett to stare at anything else. They’d sprung this on him, so to show interest in the way he wants would—wait, _doesn’t_ want. Whatever, either way it would simply be too awkward to jump into the scene now. So from his vantage point off to the side, he shifts his weight, tilting to get as good a look as he can. Without seeming eager, of course; he’s never seen nipple rings in person, after all. Just online, when he’d been… looking for them on girls.

Rhett sees them, and his lungs seize to a stop.

Link’s perky nipples are a warm reddish pink, rosy with blushing life, and they’re hard—but whether that’s from chill, or is a persistent side effect from having metal bars through them, or is courtesy of the fresh scrutiny on his exposed chest in that moment… 

A deep breath finally lifts Rhett’s shoulders as he ogles the piercings themselves. On either side of the buds, tiny angelic wings sprout from Link’s skin. Feathered, detailed, unique… _ fuck it, _ they’re unbearably cute and sexy, holy _ shit _. His nipples are little cherubs! Where does this guy get off?! Like the piercings themselves weren’t enough, like he had to go and fill people’s heads with immediate thoughts of licking and twisting and pinching. Of corrupting an angel with filthy moans.

Body not as still as he wants it to be, Rhett knows he’s gawking. But those dumb little silver wings might as well be made of flint and steel; he’s _ burning. _

“I’ll clean ‘em anyway,” Frank hums, and with the trance broken, Rhett snaps his gaze to the mirror.

His mouth is open, tongue poking his cheek, shorts _ obviously _ not a tough enough material to handle this. Panicked, he straightens and flexes his calves, forcing himself to feign interest in one of the signed photos. At least he can stand turned away while—while a guy _ wets Link’s budded nipples with a swab. _

“S’cold.”

“Yeah. Won’t take long.”

Link had done this on purpose. There’s no chance in hell this is an innocuous event. He’d—he’d _ known, _ somehow. Is teasing Rhett with the fact his chest looks that good. Sees that he’s already trying _ so goddamn hard, _and wants to make it even harder for some reason. Unbelievable.

Whatever. It’s his body, if he wants to have needles shot through his tits, that’s fine.

“Bet that hurt,” Rhett says to the wall. His throat threatens to crack the words, but thankfully they come out normal. Ish.

“It did,” Link answers with a soft laugh, and Frank huffs.

“Whatever.”

“No, it really did. You know the difference between like… cartilage and soft piercings? Cartilage are tougher, but they come with that popping sound, and to me that makes them less painful. Which I know sounds weird.”

“Yep, sounds backwards. But whatever you say,” mumbles Frank, and Rhett grunts.

“If he says it hurt, it hurt, man.”

An awkward beat of silence falls over them, but immune as ever, Link pipes up.

“Do you have any piercings, Rhett?”

“No.”

“Really?” There’s a hint of amusement to the check. “Huh. Probably for the best. Not only are they painful, but they’re kind of addictive. It’s not a habit for everyone.”

“You sayin’ I couldn’t handle one?” Rhett asks, glancing over his shoulder. Link’s shirt is back down, thankfully, and Frank is making a note in a folder.

“No! I’m sure you could. I mean… except maybe the ‘addictive’ part.” Link pantomimes smoking, taking one faux drag before blinking, doe-eyed. Such a tease.

“I can quit that whenever I want,” Rhett warns.

“Tell me: do you have your cigs on you right now?”

Frank scribbles away on the clipboard, oblivious to the charged eye contact sparking between his guests. 

Never one to back down from a challenge, Rhett wears his chagrined amusement openly—but Link, never fazed, simply maintains their gaze, visibly nonplussed. Waiting. 

If Rhett is asked later, he won’t be able to recall the bizarre air of competition Link’s thrown out, nor the seconds that pass while friction shoots along an invisible twine between them, nor the hint of glee tickling Link’s lips.

What he _ will _ remember is the line that decides it:

“You’d look good with an eyebrow ring, you know.”

“Frank.” Rhett turns, tilting his head back. “You free right now?”

Off-guard, Frank looks up and considers Rhett. “You… you want one _ right now?” _

“Can you do it?” 

“I mean, yeah. Of course. But spur-of-the-moment things aren’t typically something we encourage here. Body modifications are a lot of responsibility, and not everyone can handle the follow-through required to—”

“Do I need to sign anything?” Rhett plows ahead, and Frank rolls his eyes—an action Rhett misses thanks to another victorious glare at Link.

“O-_ kay _. Fuck it. Let’s just do it.” With the bravado of someone already done, Frank plops his handiwork down and changes into a new pair of tight latex gloves. No sooner is he fiddling with a stainless steel cart and rearranging the intricate containers on it than Link is showcasing the only chair in the area to Rhett.

“Is your team gonna be okay with this?”

Damn. Rhett hadn’t thought of that. 

But so what? If his manager has an issue, he’ll just take it out and let it heal. More than anything, he just wants Link to eat his own words. Who the fuck gets attached to the feeling of being punctured? No one. That’s dumb. And Rhett’s going to prove it. 

“Honestly? I don’t care.”

“That’s the spirit.” Link assumes his position on stand-by, leaning against a filing cabinet covered in magnets with podcast titles. “You really don’t have to do this, though.”

“Sounds like someone’s scared of losing a bet.” Plopping down on his throne, Rhett splays his legs wide and watches Link with a smirk.

“Bet? We didn’t bet anything, man.”

“Good thing. ‘Cause I’m about to win.”

Frank mumbles something that neither of them pay any mind to.

This time when Link rolls his eyes, it’s paired with a knowing smile, and he clears his throat. “Alright. Fine. If you can go through with this, I’ll pay for it.”

“Easy,” Rhett nods, frowning like he’s already impressed with himself. “And in the impossible chance I _ don’t _go through with it?”

“I dunno. You buy me dinner or something.”

Huh.

That sounds fine. Not losing, but the consequence of losing. Rhett wouldn’t mind hitting up a drive-thru on the way home and parking to eat with Link outside his apartment. Cracking jokes while they chug soda, finding a country station they can both sing along to. Feeling out what kinda appetite Link has, whether he’s all dainty and overly-concerned about staining his shirt with ketchup or if he can tuck away food fast enough to give Rhett a run for his money twice in one night.

Yeah. Just sitting with him in the dim car and being with him in that orange lamp glow again. Rhett’s not gonna throw this, but that’s an outcome he could live with, even if Link teases him.

“Fine.”

“Alright.” Frank falls onto a rolling stool produced from under a table and scoots close, sobering Rhett. His breath smells like some kind of hippie juice drink. Better than alcohol, at least. “I know you’ve put exactly _ zero _thought into this, but which eyebrow do you want?”

“Uh…” 

Shit. This really is gonna be a thing he’ll see every day in the mirror now, isn’t it? Rhett’s _ gonna _do it, but Frank is right. Rhett really doesn’t care.

“Why don’t we let Link decide, since he likes the eyebrow idea so much?” Rhett offers, shooting him a withering smirk.

“What? Me?” The brunet laughs, pointy teeth flashing. He crosses his arms. “Giving me too much power here, McLaughlin.”

“Nah, come on.” Rhett’s grip leaves the arm of the chair to beckon a decision. “You suggested it. Show Frank _ exactly _what you want.”

“Gosh,” Link mutters before stepping over and leaning down, examining Rhett’s features with far more aplomb than necessary. “This one,” he points to Rhett’s right eyebrow.

“Such a bad idea,” Frank hums to himself. He doesn’t waste a second disinfecting the area until fresh air chills Rhett’s brow ridge. “At a slant, or straight?” he exemplifies with a rotating finger.

“Slant.” That answer had been instant. 

If Rhett backs out, he can to take Link to dinner. It’s pretty damn tempting.

He’ll just have to think of that to distract from the needle about to go through his face.

“You got it, boss. I’ll make this quick.”

As promised, Rhett turns statuesque, closing his eyes and listening to Frank’s ministrations. Clutter clanks and clicks on the cart while the guy pokes around, and the next time he touches Rhett’s face, Rhett startles.

“Whoa, easy now. I’m just gonna put the clamp on…”

An item finds Rhett’s eyebrow, closing around it like the jaw of a tiny snake, and—_again—_Rhett flinches. Frank stops, and thanks to the bizarre sensation, Rhett refuses to open his eyes. He’s fine, but _ seeing _it will probably freak him out. The clamp dangles from his face like a ticking clothespin, tight and alien.

“Rhett, right? You need to relax.”

“I am relaxed.”

“No. You’re so tightly strung that if I pierce you like this, you’re either gonna end up causing extra damage to yourself, or to _ me. _Just… chill, dude. Deep breaths.”

“I _ am _chill,” Rhett insists with a huff, and Frank must look even more done than before, because Link chuckles gently.

“Here. Let me.”

Rhett’s heart skips a beat, his mouth running away on auto-pilot: “If you think for a _ second _ that I’m gonna let _ you _pierce me—”

“No,” Link cuts in, and a warm, soft hand finds Rhett’s on the chair’s arm. “This might calm you down.”

Rhett hadn’t realized he’d been white-knuckling until Link collected his palm. Smooth, and tender, and present, Link maneuvers Rhett’s hand in his own until their palms meet—and further, still, pressing his fingers in the divets between Rhett’s to ask them to open. 

It isn’t much of a choice, as instinctive as Link follows through. Holding him. Holding his hand. Rhett just wishes he wasn’t too stunned to protest. But the contact _ is _ reassuring, and Link does his best to knit his fingertips to Rhett’s knuckles. A way to say _ I’m here, you can be vulnerable _ without speaking a word. And he seems so… sure about it? Like Frank won’t care at all that they’re holding hands, or maybe that if Frank _ does _care, ultimately that doesn’t matter.

The muscles in Rhett’s back loosen, and he feels his shoulders slump.

“Is this okay?” Link whispers, and the heat in Rhett’s neck reminds him they aren’t in some introspective limbo. They’re at a place that’s probably closing soon.

“Why am I still without an eyebrow ring,” Rhett asks, and Link laughs—squeezing him just so.

“Alright. When I tell you to breathe in, breathe in.” Frank leans in and blots out the light from Rhett’s lids. “Breathe in.”

Rhett inhales…

And, yeah. It’s pretty much exactly what he’d been anticipating. A searing shot of _ sharp _goes through his brow, skewering him—traveling through flesh and blood alike—and Rhett’s first instinct is to scrunch his face in discomfort. But then Link taps their thumbs together, and that little reminder is all that’s needed for Rhett to correct his outlet; he squeezes back, hard enough to relay the intensity of the pain, not so perilous that he’ll bruise Link.

It’s grounding, feeling him by his side in the middle of this.

Well… Link had gotten him _ into _this, but. Still. He doesn’t want to hurt him. 

In a strange way, he appreciates it. 

Frank hems and haws over his work—switching between tools that Rhett’s grateful he can’t see—and maybe the reason Rhett appreciates it is ‘cause _ this _is who he could be when he takes off his jersey. 

A guy who can change at the drop of a hat. Do whatever he wants without worrying about repercussions or what others will think. And sure, Link is to blame for this random piercing, but it counts as a “first;” whether or not he keeps the new addition, it’s proof that he can handle breaking outside of his comfort zone and trying something new. Not proof for Link, but proof for _ himself, _that he can wear a different mindset yet be the same person deep down, regardless of what happens tomorrow. 

_ Maybe I’m not as inflexible as I think I am. _

“Whaddya think?”

Link’s voice stirs Rhett from his thoughts and the newly-bedazzled one opens his eyes to a hand mirror held up by Frank. He finds himself in it, and finds the piercing in _ himself, _and… 

“Wow,” Rhett muses, reaching up as if to touch it, stopping only when Frank hisses at him and groans in disapproval. “It… it looks good, I think?”

It’s simple, but might as well be a horn growing out of his forehead for how it disrupts his appearance. Silver, curved, two balls on either end. It’s not really a _ ring, _ but maybe he can change that later, after it heals. If he wants. _ If _it heals. 

And Rhett kinda wants it to, now that he knows what it looks like. Link had been right: he looks _ good _with an eyebrow piece. “I mean… I think it does, anyway,” Rhett mumbles, awed, and Link’s smile is so big and near as he leans down to inspect it that Rhett blushes.

“It totally does! I told you! You look great, Rhett. I hope your manager lets you keep it.”

“Me too,” agrees Rhett softly.

“Good work as always, Frank.”

“Yeah, well… maybe you can help keep this adrenaline junkie on his care routine for it, eh?” Frank disposes of his gloves and fetches one of many small, stapled-shut doggy bags from a cabinet. “I’ll give him the usual kit, and it comes with instructions, but if he comes back in here with an infection, I’m sending him to the doctor.” 

“Understood.” Link tugs, and only then does Rhett notice they’re still holding hands—but he lets himself be pulled to his feet. “Come on. I’ve kept you out later than I meant to. I’ll pay and we’ll go.”

“Right,” Rhett recalls that they have lives outside of this room and follows, letting Link drop his hand and feeling the fresh air kiss the sweat of his palm. Yikes. Hopefully Link hadn’t been grossed out.

Frank escorts the pair back out to the lobby, and the energy and good humor he’d first had upon greeting Link envelops him again while he figures numbers at the register. “Rhett, you’ll need to come back in a month or two so we can see how it’s healing. If it falls out or any other problems arise, come back sooner and we’ll take a look at it.”

“Right. Thanks.” The throbbing will die down soon, right? If not, that’s as good a way as any to count off days of healing.

“And _ you," _Frank eyes Link with a smirk, shaking his head in huffing disbelief. “You wild child. You really don’t give yourself enough credit, you know it? You’re too humble.”

Link only smiles and passes his card over the counter as payment.

“Too humble?” Rhett echoes, glancing between them. Could be he’s feeling some kind of high—_shit, maybe piercings _ are _ addictive—_but he’s more comfortable now. Once someone shoves a syringe through your face, interacting with them is easier.

“Let me ask you something. Did that hurt?” Frank points at Rhett’s brow.

Honestly? “Yeah. If it didn’t have a pay-off, I wouldn’t do it.”

“Exactly,” Frank gruffs, shaking his head again and tenting his eyebrows high to glare at Link incredulously. “_Sure. _ After last summer, I don’t believe _ anything _could hurt this guy.”

“Last summer?” Rhett looks to Link, whose face has blossomed light pink. He’s staring down at the glass counter top, scratching his cheek as his card’s run. 

“He doesn’t know?” The piercer puffs his cheeks out and basically throws the card and receipt back at Link, putting his hands up in surrender. “My bad. I thought y’all—never mind. Sorry. Have a good night, you two.”

Snatching up his papers, Link flashes Rhett a shy smile and nods to the outside door. “Shall we?”

Instantly, Rhett’s on his heel, probably not as indignant as he should be about Frank thinking they were knocking boots, but he can’t help it; “What’s he talking about? What happened last summer?”

“Nothin’,” Link shrugs, striding fast to Rhett’s car and pulling the handle once before his chauffeur even has a chance to fob it open. “Don’t worry about it.”

They climb in, Rhett stows his piercing care kit in the back floorboard, and as much as he would love to drop this mysterious story involving Link, he _ can’t. _Frank had been so tantalizing about it. Instead Rhett takes his time, figuring they have the entire ride back to talk. The engine roars to life with a sputter, and soon they’re cruising back towards campus, radio muffled to low. 

“What, were you like… in a car accident, or something? Get surgery?”

“What?!” Link asks, and bursts into laughter. “No! Oh my goodness, your mind went morbid _ fast.” _

“Then what was it? If it wasn’t that bad then why can’t you tell me?” Rhett grins, hammering his fingers on the wheel. When he glances over and a beam of light slides across Link’s face, the look there heats Rhett’s chest and clamps his mouth shut.

It’s… strangely adoring, if that’s even the right word.

Link’s eyes tick up to Rhett’s new bar. “You look really good, Rhett. You sure showed me.”

Straight-facing, Rhett presses his lips thin and focuses on the road, ears hot. 

“I’m proud of you,” Link adds, and his sincerity is so unabashed that the easiest way to receive it is through hyperbole: _ He doesn’t mean it. It’s nice, but it’s way too much. Pandering. _“I know it’s not easy the first time. And I hope you know you’re allowed to take it out and let it heal. I won’t make fun of you, if you do. Didn’t mean to pressure you into it. Feel kinda bad about that, actually.”

“I like it too, ya dork,” Rhett grumbles, and Link’s bright laugh fills the cabin.

The parkway has a median lined with old, sagging trees that drip ivy, and the truck glides effortlessly under the archway they create. It’s a nice night. Beautiful out, actually.

“Still. You know you don’t have to wear it forever if you don’t want to. Right?”

“...Yeah. I know.”

“Good.” With that, Link leans towards the window and peers out at the historical houses flashing by. Columns of white and statues that should’ve been torn down a long time ago. “Change can be good, though. Stepping outside your comfort zone... that’s worth being proud of.”

The rest of the ride home, Rhett can’t think of anything to say—but Link doesn’t seem to mind. He hums along with the music leaking out of the dashboard, and when a song he knows the words to comes on, Rhett turns it up and lets him sing. If the windows were down, passersby would hear Link’s melodic warble of Johnny Cash, but they aren’t, and so that voice belongs to Rhett and Rhett alone.

Link’s apartment is on the other side of campus from Rhett’s, which is fine. It’s about a five minute drive even if he hits red lights, so Rhett doesn’t mind parking in the lot to let Link get out leisurely instead of on the street like most commuters. 

“Thanks for tonight,” Link says, and promptly chuckles at himself. “Sorry. Made it sound like a date. But anyway, I had fun.”

“Yeah,” Rhett agrees, unsure of what to say. He hadn’t expected to get the lamp-lit parking lot goodbye he’d fantasized about earlier, but here they are, and Rhett’s without his script for the scene. What would he say to any other friend…? _ Have a good night, I’ll text you to let you know I got home safe, see you later, et cetera. _Instead, Rhett chews his cheek and adds quietly, “Me too.”

“You okay?” Link runs his hands along his thighs. _ Was _it Rhett, who’d been sweaty earlier?

“Yeah.”

“Oh. Okay. Uhh—yeah. Good.” Link finds the car door handle with ease—it’s what to say next that it sounds like he’s searching for. “I’ll catch you around, right?”

Of course. This isn’t the last time they’re going to see each other. Why would it be? Why does Link sound so definitive about it? Rhett wants to nod, wants to respond with a promise in case the ball is in his court, because what if Link thinks this has run its course? He’d instigated tonight, sure, but he’d also said something else once: _ I know when to stop _. After unintentionally seducing Rhett, texting with him, sitting in his lap, inviting him out, holding his hand… is that it?

Maybe this is where Link throws in the towel on spending time together. And why shouldn’t he? 

Except… 

_ I don’t want him to stop. _

_ I want to kiss him. _

_ On purpose. On the lips. _

_ I wanna feel that way. Just one more time. _

Throat thick and lumped with the notion, Rhett’s mouth opens, but no words come out. No one’s around, outside the truck. Not a soul would know, or see—nobody but himself, and _ God, _he could do it. It would burn in every way, heat his blood and his mind and leave scars in his memory he’d gladly run his fingers over and remember late at night, alone in his bed.

“Rhett?” Link asks, and Rhett forces himself to meet his gaze.

“Yeah. Have a good night.”

“Oh. ‘Kay.” A smile finds Link—a docile thing that doesn’t look anything like the others he’d been flashing throughout the night—and he climbs down out of the truck and offers one last wave before shutting the door.

He rounds the vehicle and stands before it, hands clasped at his waist like he’s waiting for something. Rhett had wanted to watch Link go inside, just to make sure he’s safe and to get as long a potential last look at him as he could, but with Link’s expectant blue eyes stark in the truck’s headlights, Rhett lacks that bravery. 

Instead he reverses and heads out of the lot, each muscle tense again as he drives back to his dorm.


	5. Open Up

The choice to stare at either the wall next to his bed or the rest of his unlit room isn’t an election Rhett cares to vote in. It’s just circumstance as he spins and turns, legs tangling in the sheets and ever-present crickets chirping away outside. It’s nights like these he’s grateful that Gregg often stays with his girlfriend—Rhett's tossing and turning annoys even _ him_. Maybe he should listen to music? One of those relaxation apps he sees ads for everywhere online?

He twists once more to eye his phone on the bedside table, face-up and screen aglow. Rhett snatches it but finds it asleep, taunting him. Just the reflection of moonlight coming in through his window. A click of the home button shows no new notifications along with the mocking time: 2:49 a.m. He has class at 8.

Letting the phone softly hit his pillow, Rhett zones out into a thousand yard daze, eyes lost somewhere near his closet door. His eyebrow throbs, but not too bad. It would be silly to blame that for why he can’t rest. 

He knows. He’s past the point of pretending he doesn’t. 

His night out with Link hadn’t ended in a way he’d been okay with. But it might have, for Link.

Link could be perfectly asleep right now after tucking all thoughts of Rhett into a drawer and locking it tight. Every willingness, each ounce of interest shown, every shot taken and brazen bit of honesty directed at Rhett now just a memory of _ I knew him, once. Mess of a person. _

And Rhett _ is. _ He’s aware he’s a mess. Men who have their shit together don’t have crises in the dead of night over cute boys and whether they’d ever see them—or even get to _ talk _to them again. 

He runs a hand through his hair and heaves a sigh. It’s a familiar feeling, the haunting by a thought that won’t let him live his life until he acts upon it. He’d meant to act, anyway—regrets not having done so. And it’ll probably make him seem desperate or weird or obsessed, but at this point, isn’t he?

So he picks his phone back up and opens his texts, ignoring unread ones from his mom and instead selecting Link’s.

_ I’m here. _

_ I see you! Hiiii _

So silly. Rhett smirks at the last message, when he’d picked up Link to head to the tattoo parlor. It’s nice how comfortably Link texts him. Maybe all’s not lost.

But that text is dated 9:45 p.m—well before Link had said _ I’ll catch you around _like their time together was a mythical thing that needed to be caged. Something of pure happenstance that didn’t necessarily need to happen again.

Rhett’s fingers hover over the keyboard and he shuts his eyes, swallowing.

He needs to be honest. But how honest? Could he make Link blush? Make his heart flutter, if he said the right thing? Rhett’s cheeks heat at the thought. He’d… he would like that a lot.

With a deep breath, he types in weightless taps.

_ I’m thinking about you. _

Send.

Rhett lingers on the text, and it’s both embarrassing and exactly true. Link deserves to hear it. And Rhett needs to say it. But hopefully it doesn’t come off as clingy and double-hopefully it won’t make Link uncomfortable. It is late, after all. He’s probably going to wake up to it in the morning, and it could potentially start his day on a creeped-out note if he’s not into it.

But then the message flags as “read”. 

And no bubbles indicate that Link is typing.

So Rhett restarts, trying to save face. He’s got half a message written about his eyebrow bar before the chat window jumps to life and Link is on the verge of responding. The spike of thrill trains Rhett’s eyes to Link’s side of the screen.

When it comes through, the message isn’t as long as Rhett’s anticipating—

_ I’m thinking about you, too. _

—but it sets him aflame. 

Texting with someone this late at night feels like whispering across time and space itself while the rest of the world spins on, and Rhett can’t help wondering what it looks like wherever Link is. Is he in bed? Is he alone or with someone, is he doing homework or maybe at another party, earning judicious twice-overs from people with alcohol in their system in the same way Rhett had once looked at him?

It’s suddenly too hot under the covers, so Rhett tosses them off and lays back, holding the phone above his head. With the “silence” broken, words come easier.

_ I wanna see you again. _

_ Do you really? _  
_ I thought you were for sure _  
_ sick of me after tonight._

_ I know. I’m sorry. _

_ I don’t know why I act _ _  
_ _ that way around you. _

_ I do. It’s because you’re scared. _

_ You’re not scary. _

_ You change your mind? _

_ What? _

_ You called me terrifying. _ _  
_ _ When we met. Before you kissed me. _

Rhett _ had _ kissed Link, hadn’t he? He’d been drunk and lost in it and absolutely unable to resist. Link had checked every single one of Rhett’s hidden boxes, and under the influence of alcohol he’d been brave, and he’d fallen. He’d been _ so _ brave, that first night. Where had that courage been in the car, when they’d been alone and Link had clearly been waiting on a verdict of _ yes, more _ or _ I think we’re done here? _‘Cause Rhett’s floundering had pushed them into the latter. 

_ I’m not scared of you. _

Eyes burning, Rhett clamps his teeth down on his tongue and writes.

_ I’m scared of myself. _

_ Ah. _

_ I know that feeling. It’s okay. _

_ I don’t want to make _ _  
_ _ you uncomfortable. _

_ I never want that. _

_ You don’t make me uncomfortable. _

_ You make me a lot of things, _ _  
_ _ but uncomfortable ain’t one of them. _

_ Are you drunk...? Lol _

_ I wish lol. _

_ You really want to see me again? _

_ Yeah. _

_ Texting is good too, though. _

_ Feel like I’ve been taking up _ _  
_ _ a lot of your time. _

_ I like you, Rhett. I already _ _  
_ _ told you that. _

_ I like talking to you. _ _  
_ _ I like being around you. _

Rhett soaks in the heat. Uses it as a fuel to keep this going—it’s what he needs tonight. It feels _ right, _and there’s a bizarre sinking sensation that comes with saying these things sober, but it’s good.

_ I like you too. _

_ I’m sorry I tried to say I don’t. _

_ I’m so confused, Link. _

_ I know. _

_ It’s scary. _

_ It is. _

_ I was there too, _ _  
_ _ when I was younger. _

_ Take your time. _ _  
_ _ It’s a process. _

_ If I take my time _

With shaky fingers, Rhett sends the half-finished message on accident, unsure of how to ask what he wants to. What right does he have to Link? A magnetic attraction to a guy he’s spent all of three nights with, who he’d recently scolded for being over-familiar—what claim could _ he _ possibly have on Link? Why burden him with this shit?

...Because he _ has _to ask. He can’t not.

_ Hmm? _

_ I don’t want you to _ _  
_ _ have to wait on me. _

_ No matter how much _ _  
_ _ I like you, I can’t ask that. _

_ Doesn’t it feel right? _

_ When I sit in your lap and hold you? _ _  
_ _ When your hands are on my waist? _

_ You kissed my neck without meaning to. _

Is he really doing this? Writing it out for someone else to read in proof he can look back on, to read it out himself? A catalog of half-formed truths and secrets? His heart pounds, ribs turned to ice yet sweating in his sheets.

_ It does. It feels right. _

_ Doesn’t change that I’m scared. _

_ That’s okay. _

_ I still like you, though. _

_ If you’re into me, too… _

_ I am. _

_ I’m really, really into you, Link. _

_ I couldn’t sleep. _

_ ...then I’m willing to see where this goes. _

Rhett wipes his brow with the back of his arms—wipes the moisture from his palms on his pillow and feels the warmth radiating from his phone, his head, his gut.

_ Does that mean…? _

_ What? _

_ I uhh. _

_ Are we… putting a label on this? _

_ Do you want to? _

“Boyfriend.”

Rhett tries the word out on his lips and it surges a reality check through him. He _ is _ doing this—this isn’t a dream. He’d caved and texted Link, and _ this _is where their conversation had steered. His stomach churns at the thought of waking in the morning and sunlight exposing the late-night exchange, of things morphed in the early hours of the day and how he could end up hurting Link if he pushes himself too hard. Forces himself to adjust.

_ No. _

_ Not yet, _

Rhett adds hastily. Maybe… someday. Maybe.

_ That’s okay. I understand. _

_ Are you asking me not to _ _  
_ _ sleep with anyone else, though? _

Rhett imagines it—and a prompt surge of jealousy rocks him, tightening his stomach and worsening the illness at the edges of his mind.

Still. He knows where the line is drawn.

_ I can’t ask that of you. _

_ I’d do it. For you. _

_ I’ll take down my dating profile. _

_ I’d give us a genuine shot, Rhett. _ _  
_ _ If you’re willing to do the same. _

_ I… yeah. _

_ I am. _

Swallowing, Rhett lets out a shaking exhale.

_ I want you that badly. _

_ You deserve to hear it. _

_ I can tell. You’re not as subtle _ _  
_ _ as you think you are. Lol _

_ Rude lol. _

A glance up at the name _ Link Neal _with the blank image space next to it reminds him of something he’d been meaning to ask.

_ I have a question. _

_ What’s up? _

_ Can you send me a selfie? _

_ I need a contact image. _  
_ I was thinking maybe your profile pic. _  
_ The one on Grindr. That way _  
_ you wouldn’t have to take a new one._

_ Oh yeah? _

_ Like that one, do you? Haha _

Rhett blushes, wondering how transparent he is. If Link’s to be believed, he’s incapable of playing anything cool. So why try?

_ Yeah. Sorry. _

_ Why are you apologizing? :) _

And the image comes through, there on Rhett’s screen, and it’s a punch-to-the-jaw of a reminder: Rhett’s talking about _ being with _ this guy. Link is drop-dead stunning: the angles of his face, the dips of his collar bones, his hand gently resting on his forehead, his clean hair that Rhett can practically smell through a picture alone. Cyan eyes.

_ Jesus. _

_ I can’t believe you’re into me. _

_ Why not? You’re funny. Kind, _  
_ deep down. Loyal to those you like. _  
_ Considerate. Make me feel safe._

_ Plus you’re hot as hell. _

Rhett’s ears flush, the praise skipping along his veins when he glances between the words and the photo. Surreal.

_ You took the reasons right out of my mouth. _

_ Hmm. _

_ I like it when you’re honest. _

_ You really wanna be with me, Rhett? _

_ Yes. _

_ I wanna try. _ _  
_ _ I’d hate myself if I didn’t. _

One of Rhett’s hands comes to rest on his stomach, attempting to tamp down his libido. The picture is—he can’t stop looking at it, and it’s already saved to his phone, but he’s _not _going to do anything while he’s talking to Link. That would be skeevy, right? God, he _wants _to—if his resolve were just a hair weaker he would’ve crumbled the second Link had responded and roughed himself up through their entire conversation. Link’s attention would be enough to do the trick, if Rhett’s current state is any indicator.

_ Then… there’s something _ _  
_ _ you should know. _

Rhett pauses while a series of assumptions flit through his mind, none of them good. 

_ What is it? _

_ If I’m gonna be yours, _  
_ you’ve gotta treat me _  
_ like I’m yours._

The oxygen leaves Rhett’s room. He doesn’t mean to, he swears he doesn’t when he huffs a soft breath and palms himself through his boxers, biting his lower lip to prevent noises too telling to himself from slipping out.

_ What do you mean? _

_ I know the real reason _  
_ you asked whether I got off _  
_ after I serviced you._

_ You want my cock, don’t you? _

Yes. Fuck yes, _ yes. _Rhett swears quietly and pushes under his boxers, fingers grazing over himself in tortuous touches. He’s leaking, stomach and underwear slick with wet that he dabs onto his palm. More proof.

_ Fuck. How could I not? _

_ I haven’t been able to stop _ _  
_ _ thinking about you, Link. _

Rhett shivers and slips into it, lids low and face hot as he types with one hand.

_ I wanna see you come. _

_ Then you’re gonna be responsible _  
_ for making that happen. I’m gonna _  
_ restrain myself from making the first _  
_ move. Can’t push you like that._

_ So if you want me, you’re_  
_ gonna have to claim me. _

Rhett’s already curling his fingers around himself—staking this safe territory to finally show some mercy—when the image comes through.

It’s a selfie, but it’s so much _ more _ than a selfie; Link’s shirtless, laying in bed and cast in a soft yellow glow, smirking up at the camera. He looks absolutely sinful, with his flawless complexion and teasing eyes, those _ goddamn _ angel wing nipple piercings tight and perfect. But what commands Rhett’s entire attention and presses a winded “_Oh, fuck,” _from him—the part that kicks his fist into gear and pulls an airy whimper from him—is that Link’s cock and balls are exposed at the bottom of the screen. 

Link’s briefs are pushed down just enough to prop his sex tight against his stomach, clean-shaven and blushing and caused by _ Rhett. _ He knows—he’s hard and willing, _ wants _Rhett to see this side of him in person, had taken the photo at an angle to give the illusion that he’s under Rhett...

...and he has more piercings.

_ That’s _what had happened last summer.

Little silver spheres poking out of his cock’s length, four bars and eight metal balls in total. It adds another depth to the selfie—one of measurement and realism and arousal and _ Link. _

The captions come moments later.

_ Hope you don’t mind _ _  
_ _ that I’m decorated. _

_ Enjoy the pic, babe. ;) _

Rhett moves without thinking—a man possessed.

He’s on his knees, spinning and dropping the phone to the mattress, leaving the photo to take up all of his screen before hovering over it and fucking his fist for all he’s worth.

Crumbling to his unused elbow, Rhett brings his face close to the screen and drinks in the selfie like water in the desert. Link’s looking at him, _ wants _ this, _ wants _ Rhett, had given this with the clear intent of Rhett _ using _ it. Permission and consent and _ fuck, _his dick is pierced!

Rhett’s sweating bullets, fighting against his waistband—to be good and do exactly as his boyf—shit, _ Link _expects of him. But his last article of clothing is in the way, so he shoves his boxers down and frees himself, marveling at how much precum he’s already dripped when he takes himself in hand again and jerks off.

It’s a struggle to keep his eyes open against the onslaught, but like hell he’s going to close them. Not when he can come while staring at his own smiling, aroused cocktease. His very own, Link is _ his _ now and no one else’s, looking up at him from his bed—from _ both _ their beds—all lip-biting desire and not a wink of shame or hesitation. The photo’s not even that explicit by Rhett’s standards, but it’s _ Link, _ and it _ is. _ It’s the filthiest picture he’s ever laid eyes on. 

Rhett’s knees shake, and that’s never happened before—but then, he’s never been this worked up, never needed release as badly as he does right this second. Never thought Link could ruin him as hard as he had when he’d pulled him into his mouth on that porch, never thought about how it would feel to have hot skin _ and _ metal in his own mouth—never thought about Link’s studded tongue on his and Link’s studded cock slipping through his wet fingers, pressed against his own, Link being _ on _ him, noises pounded from him until he cries loud into Rhett’s throat, wracked with it, and—

_ “Link,” _Rhett hisses, shivering all over as it slams into him. 

He convulses into himself, eyes locked on Link’s as he shoots ropes onto his bed, onto the phone, into his beard. Link is beneath him when Rhett shuts his eyes and rides it out in gasps, thoughts of blue and warmth and a promise of sex far too arousing to seem real.

But even after it’s over, Rhett still has the evidence. It _ is _real, still smiling up at him from behind strings of cum he’d been too wild to bother trying to catch. He deflates onto a clean stretch of the bed, chest heaving and limbs tingling and throbbing in time with his racing heart, mumbling obscenities to the room on loop as he calms down. 

He should respond. That had been _ incredible, _ and once again, Link deserves to know_. _

Removing his boxers, he wipes the mess from his phone and bed as best he can (he’ll have to wash the sheets in the morning) and heads back to the text log.

Link hadn’t sent anything else. Patient as ever.

Rhett laughs—_actually chuckles_—and types.

_ I kinda wish I’d recorded what _ _  
_ _ just happened for you. _

_ Lol! That was fast. _  
_ You really needed that, huh? _  
_ A video would’ve been nice._

_ I’ll make it up to you. Promise. _

_ For now, here. _

Rhett angles his head towards the moonlight and opens the camera—a bit humiliated to see the strands of his own relief shining in his beard like pearls—but it’s a good show of _ how much _he’d enjoyed himself, and it’s the least he can do. He snaps a photo that hopefully doesn’t look too terrible and sends it.

_ Holy shit _

_ Rhett _

_ Are you serious _

_ Yeah lol. _

_ I kinda lost my mind. _

_ Fuck, dude _

_ Thank you for the photo. _ _  
_ _ You’re unbelievably gorgeous. _

_ I… I’m gonna go take care of _  
_ myself, before I bust from _  
_ the next slight breeze. Lol_

_ Gonna have wet dreams_  
_ tonight if I don’t. God, Rhett. _

_ Was I good? In your head...? _

He’s fishing for more. More praise, more fodder, and Rhett’s more than willing to give it. He closes his eyes for a moment and sits up to start for the bathroom, trying to pick something exactly as enticing as Link deserves.

_ In my head, I made you scream. _

Link goes silent.

He’s doing it. Right now, on the other end of the phone, Link’s getting himself off to thoughts of Rhett fucking him senseless. And while Rhett feels bad for not sending a nude back, he can’t help but think about how he’ll definitely have the opportunity in the future.

They’re together now, after all. In some form.

...Maybe it’s Rhett’s turn to make plans.


	6. Comfort Zone

Once upon a time, Rhett had told himself that if he hadn’t gotten closure with Link, he would have been devastatingly distracted during basketball games, unable to think of anything except the one who “got away.” 

Now, as Rhett’s attention splinters over the full length of the court and struggles to keep up with the ball, he realizes that his efforts to prevent that have ultimately resulted in the very situation he’d been trying to snuff out. He’s _ trying_—honestly, he is—but he’d invited Link, and Link is supposed to be here, somewhere in the Wolf Pack that’s turned out to watch. If only Rhett could see where he is.

He _ is _here, right? He hadn’t chosen to accept that invitation to Rachel’s instead?

_ “McLaughlin!!” _

Coach Wands’ bellow finds Rhett, snaps him back into the game for the umpteenth time. That tone is one he recognizes, though it’s rarely, if _ ever, _ directed at him; it’s saved for players with less skill, who take practice less seriously than Rhett, and with a silent swear, he trains his focus where it belongs and jogs back towards home goal as the Bulldogs snatch the ball yet again.

Link’s here. He has to be. He’d taken one of the tickets normally reserved for Rhett’s family, and now he’s seeing Rhett flub up since Rhett can’t stop fixating on finding_ him, _ on at least getting a visual on his whereabouts. It’s a catch-22; Rhett wants Link to see him play ‘cause _ yeah, _he’s one of the best on the team, but not like this: fumbling and yelled at and probably messing with his teammates’ heads.

If only Rhett knew where the seats reserved for his parents are located.

“Shit,” he swears, very nearly missing a pass just as a teammate barks out, “Rhett!”

Last second he catches it, unguarded and way off-post. Lucky mishap; he takes his frustration out on the ball in one swift movement, spinning and lining up his shot to sink it from the three-point line, erupting the Wolf Pack into howls. At least he’s not entirely useless tonight. 

The goal earns a passing clap on the back from Brad—the only teammate Rhett considers a friend, and sender of the surprise ball. The guy’s sweating like a glass of sweet tea in mid-August and wipes his face dry with his jersey, panting an “Attaboy.” His pallor’s reddened from exertion, and his normally-fluffy hair looks fresh from a dunk tank.

_ Everyone’s picking up my slack—the fucking stretch four! _

As the final straw to break the camel’s back, Rhett internalizes that and shoves his annoyance into the game. It’s only when met with his unbridled irritation that the balance shifts, and the Bulldogs begin playing with their tails between their legs: Rhett denies layups, intercepts passes with a vengeance, and even steals the ball a few times with get-that-shit-outta-here slaps. Those in attendance have noticed as well, and the uproar thanks and congratulates him for finally getting his head on straight every time he puts a Dog down. Wolves are superior, anyway.

It’s after the eleventh successful three-pointer that the buzzer quakes the arena, and Rhett blinks the frenzy out of his eyes and drags his forearm across his brow. Teammates surround him, all pats and praise for helping them bring it back from the brink of destruction. In an endorphin-fueled dream he shakes hands with the opposing players before toddling after his team, heading for the lockers. 

The crowd is going _ wild_. Rhett tunes it out, stupefied and lightheaded from the rush—but a single begging voice cracks open that shelter as he nears the locker doors.

“Rhett! _ Rhett!” _

Aware of every sense once again, Rhett searches the hands and faces reaching out to him, and finds Link beaming in the nearest throng. His lips move, asking to be heard—but it’s too damn loud, and Rhett grimaces. He pauses long enough to mimic texting on a phone, and Link’s eyes flash understanding with a nod.

Thirty minutes later the post-game wrap-up is completed, and Rhett’s shouldering his bag and full-on jogging to the spot he’d discretely texted to Link, asking him to wait up; it’s outside, an alcove between the pillars of the thoroughfare of the venue that’s central yet out of the way. Saplings tremble from their allotments in the concrete, in awe of the same crisp night air that cools Rhett’s skin when he pushes through the double doors.

He’s taking a risk by making an appearance after a game without a hoodie over his jersey, but that’s why he’d chosen a place clandestine. And in that place—illuminated by the humming blue fluorescents far above—stands Link. In a soft green zip-up hoodie of his own and bouncing on the balls of his trendy sneakers that are more for show than use.

Beautiful.

And he’s all Rhett’s. Rhett’s… well, not his boyfriend, exactly. But his _ something_.

Link is cloaked in an air of joy that radiates out when Rhett lets his jog die to a padding amble, stopping with a single pace left between them.

“You came.” Rhett’s breathlessness isn’t entirely due to the rush.

“Well, _ yeah,” _laughs Link, wiggling his hands in his jacket pockets. “You were… you were really amazing out there, Rhett.”

Blush creeps up the taller one’s back and he rubs his neck to quell it, not missing the way Link’s eyes tick over to his bicep. But the flourishing pride dies swiftly as Rhett recalls shutting him down earlier that day. “Sorry I couldn’t give you a ride here.”

“Are you kidding? Don’t worry about that, I feel like a jerk for even asking. No _ duh _players have to get here super early. Dunno why I didn’t think about that.” Link examines the toes of his shoes for a moment and then side-eyes Rhett, peering playful up through his bangs. “You brushin’ off my compliment?”

“Tryin’ to,” Rhett chuckles and is rewarded with Link’s dazzling grin. 

“Seriously, you made all the difference tonight. It’s almost like the rest of the team follows your gumption. And you’re _ way _ too modest about how good you are—either that, or I can’t talk basketball as well as I think I can.”

“Nah.” If Rhett blushes any harder, heat lines are bound to ripple off of him. “Thanks for coming.”

“You’re welcome. I had a great time, even if I came alone.”

Rhett’s heart skips a beat at the implication. It’s a practice of trust in his hearing when he inches closer, coaxing a wide smile from Link; they’re alone. No footsteps encroaching. No one’s nearby. It’s okay to whisper nothings.

“Well… you’re not alone anymore, are you?” 

The observation is deep and lined with a confidence leftover from the court. Hell, Rhett isn’t even sure what he’s suggesting—what the takeaway from an utterance like that should be, in this situation. But he wants to say it, and Link looks absolutely _ smitten _to hear it: his cheeks apple and lips tug down in coy enjoyment. It braces Rhett’s backbone. 

Link’s a few points ahead of him though, as he always is, and Rhett tingles from pleasant thrill when he murmurs, “Do you always hit on guys after showing off those muscles…?”

“Only the cute ones,” Rhett lies and feels the bullshit answer in every bone of his body. It couldn’t be further from the truth, but the patience Link carries with him everywhere is lenient—_understanding, _that he’s saying it for both their benefits, and he rolls his eyes contentedly.

“Before you get too carried away, hot-shot, I wanted to give you this.” Reaching into his mostly-unzipped hoodie, Link retrieves… it’s a basketball jersey, in NC State red and white. One of the ones available at any merch stand during games. But Link doesn’t pay it any mind and instead slings it over his shoulder, getting it out of the way as he fishes past it.

“That’s—” Rhett points at the shirt with a nod as a gentle breeze flushes through the shoulders of his own. “33.”

“Your number, yeah.” With a reluctant glimpse up at Rhett, Link pauses, eyes darting. “I hope that’s not weird, or… too much? Us aside, you really are a phenomenal player. No matter where this goes, I wanna support you.”

Even if things between them don’t work out, Link will wear his number around? Rhett’s head swims in the thought of Link strolling about campus, going to class repping Rhett, branded in public and Jesus Christ, like he_ belongs to Rhett? _There’s a stirring in his core the player has to ignore, along with a hitching, warm breath. 

“Uh huh. That’s… fine.”

“Too bad it doesn’t have your name on it, though,” Link muses, pulling a face and half-shrug. “I guess they don’t do that usually.” Before Rhett has time to imagine his goddamn _ name _claiming Link’s backside, Link pulls a petite brown teddy bear from his hoodie and extends it to Rhett with both hands, fingers wrapped around the little plushie’s underarms. “Tah-dah!”

Blanking out, Rhett stares at the bear. At its polyester fur glistening in the midlight. At its sincere little button eyes and their hoops of dark blue. At the little gingham bow on its neck, framing its chin pleasantly.

“Y-You… you bought this for me?” The question is a whisper, and the look on Rhett’s face must be pretty funny, since Link snorts into a laugh.

“Yeah! As a congrats for winning the game.”

“They don’t sell these here, do they?” Rhett takes the bear with ginger fingers and tests the squish of it in awe.

“I brought it with me.” 

Rhett squints. “You didn’t know we were gonna win.”

“I didn’t,” admits Link.

“What would you have done with it if we’d lost…?” Rhett wiggles the plushie.

“Given it to you anyway.” 

Rhett isn’t sure he’s ever experienced anything sweeter in his 21 years than those heartfelt words, genuine and obvious on Link’s lips. But then Link smiles up at him shyly, begging to be touched and cherished like the perfect little beau he absolutely is, and Rhett’s immediately wrong. 

A blush hits him hard. Link needs to be appreciated—_commands _it with his entire being, and Rhett’s helpless to turn him down more. Swallowing, he gives the bear one last look as proof to himself before edging closer, bringing them chest to chest. Where he has to crook his head down, Link tilts his back, not letting their fragile eye contact break; the pieces would be too hard to pick up.

“You’re really beggin’ for it, aren’t you, Neal?” murmurs Rhett, low.

“Depends. Is it working?” smiles Link. His long lashes dip once to admire the sculpt of Rhett’s neck and chest peeking out from his jersey, and a surging desire runs Rhett’s veins white-hot. Heart hammering and rushing loud through his ears, he lets one hand leave the teddy bear to reach for Link’s jaw.

_ This is it. I’m gonna mean it. _

“Yo, Rhett!” 

The voice shatters the moment at once, and Rhett backs away from Link instinctively, head whipping up with cracked wide eyes to find their visitor; it’s Brad, waving and thudding over with his own pack slung over his shoulder. Panic envelops Rhett at the sight of his teammate—_he’d seen how close we were, there’s no way he doesn’t know_—and with tingling palms, Rhett gives the bear a once over and pushes it back into Link’s hands, numb and on auto-pilot.

“There’s the—yeah, good present for your little sister. I think she’ll like it,” announces Rhett a hair too loudly. Link simply finds the toy in his care again, blinking in surprise.

Brad stops beside the pair and looks between them, waggling a confused fingers at them in turn. “Who’s this, Rhett?”

“Friend,” Rhett blurts, nodding. “Just—we met at a party recently and… he’s cool.”

Brad cocks an eyebrow at him, clearly trying not to laugh. “Okay. And does he have a _ name _, or…?”

Link puts on a smile, stowing the bear in his hoodie and extending a hand to Brad. The sparkle’s gone from his eyes now, and Rhett’s stomach churns and sours as they exchange pleasantries.

“I’m Link.”

“Brad Stevens. Nice to meet ya.”

“Amazing game, Brad.”

“Aww, thanks bud! Once _ this one _got into the swing of things, anyway.”

There’s a beat where both men spare a judicious look at Rhett, but he can’t acknowledge their gazes. Can’t tear his eyes off the concrete as guilt and shame fills the newly-blown crater in his chest. Fortuitously for him, Brad and Link waste no time making small talk about the evening.

“Is the coach upset about his new piercing?”

“Nah. He can’t wear it on the court, but no one got mad or nothin’.” 

Everything had been going so well, and then _ Brad _ had come out of nowhere, and Rhett had… just… totally lost every ounce of mettle in his system. Had abandoned Link out in the open to save face with someone he liked _ less _than Link, and the effect isn’t noticeable on Brad’s part, but Rhett can see it clear as day: Link has pulled back—is fidgeting like all he wants to do is cross his arms and shuffle his feet. But no. He has to be polite. He has to be someone he’s not while this third party is around, because Rhett had set that precedent for them both in a blind panic. 

His breathing still hasn’t quite leveled out.

_ Coward. _

_ You were about to kiss him, you fucking coward. _

_ He came to the game, he brought you an unconditional gift, he’s cute as hell and wants it, and you want it, too. _ Anyone _ would, just look at him! Why do you care what others think…? _

_ You want Link. He’s already yours for the taking, planning on wearing your goddamn number. _

_ Shitless idiot. _

The flesh of his inner cheek is too soft an outlet for self-loathing, so Rhett straightens and clears his throat, interrupting whatever they’re talking about and met with expectant attention. “We should get going,” he says to Link, nodding to the parking lot. 

Brad’s eyebrows rise. “Plans tonight?”

Link hesitates, mouth opening and closing, but Rhett plows ahead. “We came from studying together. I’m his ride home. Gettin’ kinda late, and I’ve got homework.”

“Ah. Well, have a good night, y’all! Nice meetin’ you, Link,” Brad salutes, and on his exit, pats Rhett on the shoulder. “See you at practice, man.”

“Later.”

Once Brad is nothing more than a moving item in the distant parking lot, Rhett regards Link with a hard stare, and Link looks back at him, neutral. Inscrutable. As he has every right to be. The spell is broken—effectively smashed against the pavement by Rhett’s clumsy navigation.

But this can’t be how tonight ends. If they part ways now, there’s no recovering from it. Bumbling apologies only get someone so far, and Rhett’s already at his quota for those. Fumbling through his bag’s pockets, Rhett finds his truck keys and motions to the rows of remaining vehicles. “Will you come with me?”

“What?” Brow furrowed, Link’s dubious tone reveals a bit more of his mood shift: a sliver of indignation. “Where?”

“Just… please?” Rhett implores, holding out his palm to Link. Waiting.

Glancing down at it, Link slowly places his own hand into Rhett’s, and Rhett curls his fingers around Link’s knuckles instantly. He spins towards the lot and checks for safety before striding to the area he knows his truck’s in, pulling along a Link who has to take two bobbing steps to every one of Rhett’s.

Rhett unlocks it and climbs in, smashing his bag into the passenger floor at Link’s feet as the guy does his best to stay out of the way. Link sets the teddy bear on top of the bag wordlessly, positioning it so it won’t fall. The engine keys to life, and Rhett’s pulling out of the stadium a bit faster than is safe.

“My car’s here, Rhett.”

When Rhett looks over, he sees only the fluffy back of Link’s head. He’s gazing longingly out at the arena, hand up as if to touch the window, yet hovering.

“We’ll come back for it later.”

“What if it gets towed?”

“I’ll pay for it. But I really don’t think they’re gonna punish drunk folks who might’ve needed to call an Uber.”

“Oh. Right.”

The ride is quiet, but Rhett doesn’t let his sense of urgency die; when lights turn green he revs the truck so hard it’s bound to wake up babies snoozing in houses nearby. They fly past campus and small shops mostly frequented by students, some of which still spill life out onto the sidewalk due to free-flowing alcohol and the won game. If Link’s nervous about the rush, he doesn’t show it. He simply sits with his hands folded in his lap, gazing out the window, undoubtedly thinking about how disappointing it is to be with someone like Rhett.

It doesn’t take getting to their destination itself for Link to know what’s up—the moment they turn onto the block, he breaks the silence again.

“Rachel’s?”

Yep. There’s another party here tonight, one Link had purposefully missed to see Rhett’s game.

Pulling into a free spot on the street, Rhett kills the motor. “Do you think we’re too late?” he asks, leaning over to see the lit-up windows from Link’s side of the truck.

“I mean… I’d doubt it,” Link admits, checking the time on his phone. “Rhett, why are we—”

But Rhett’s hopping out of the truck and slamming the door, jogging over to Link’s side and practically dragging him out onto the sidewalk. Link’s irritation reduces to a confused laugh, and the string of ignored questions doesn’t stop as Rhett pulls him up the staircase to Rachel’s apartment: “What are we doing?! I don’t have any money to pitch in, do you? Do they even know we’re coming?”

They reach the final landing and the door that once terrified Rhett gets opened without a second thought. He’s leading the way, and he pulls Link in behind him by the wrist—straight into the room full of familiar faces. All had been chatting and busy, scattered through the apartment, and promptly, all stop to stare at the pair now frozen in the middle of the living room. 

Elm, Aubrey, Rachel, Christopher. 

Rhett gauges all of them and more in a sweeping look, registering some tickled expressions at the surprise appearance of the much-beloved guest in his grip. But at the end of the scan Rhett lets his full attention slide to Link, who meets his gaze readily, bemused but smirking. Music drifts from the dock in the kitchen, lilting and soft. Rhett can hear it, but the words only come through in a fog as he admires Link by his side, swallowing.

_ “If you could get by, trying not to lie... _ __  
_ Things wouldn't be so confused and I wouldn't feel so used... _   
_ But you always really knew I just want to be with you…”_

Link opens his mouth to ask yet another question, but Rhett doesn’t hear it; he captures Link’s lips with his own in front of everyone, skin searing impossibly hot. One arm snakes around Link’s lower back and pulls their hips together. His other hand cradles Link’s jaw and runs a thumb along his stubble as the pressing peck melts into more and they lick their way into each other’s mouths, Link’s breath fluttering in willing surprise.

A single whooping cry shatters the silence of the spectators and one erupts into many—all cheering and encouraging Rhett to be with Link out in the open. Exposed, still in his game jersey, surrounded by eyes who can see and take pictures if they want… but they won’t. Rhett knows they won’t, and Link confirms this wordlessly when he wraps his arms around Rhett and deepens the kiss, humming into a moan only Rhett can hear that rails shivers down his tired thighs.

If he can’t do this in public—if Rhett’s not ready for that yet—he can at least prove to Link that he wants to. Fear be damned. He wants to live unapologetic and courageous, just like the people goading them on, just like the very man he’s kissing who’s been occupying every second of Rhett’s thoughts for the past few weeks. And now Link’s kissing Rhett in front of all of his friends when Rhett had been too scared to kiss him in front of _ one _ of his own.

The cheers don’t stop; they spread, crescendo, break into laughter, and _ damn, _ it’s infectious. Rhett smiles into their kiss just before Link giggles into his mouth, lighting him up from within. Link tastes like raw, trembling freedom and pure acceptance, smells like everything Rhett wants in his bed and in his life. He embodies forgiveness, patience, and everything good Rhett had shoved far down in the hopes of suffocating… but now that part of him breathes deep, grateful.

“Fuck, is one of them going off to war or something?!” someone cries with a hooting guffaw, and Rhett pulls away—just an inch, breathless—to search Link’s expression. 

He’s flushed pink, those cyan eyes dazzled with wide pupils that look Rhett’s face over in enamored delight. _ “Rhett,” _he says softly, immune to the party around them and belonging entirely to the man in question.

“I really like you.” The admission comes out as nothing more than a rumble as Rhett rocks Link in his arms, stroking his cheek with that same thumb still. If each rub against stubble feeds tinder to his belly, the sheepish smile that Link melts into is gasoline.

“I can tell,” Link laughs with a shake of his head.

“I’m sorry. I’m trying to be better.”

“Again—I can tell. _ God, _Rhett,” laughs Link, flushed with any number of things Rhett hopes he’s feeling. Rhett gives him another peck on the lips before finally turning to acknowledge the crowd.

“Hey, guys. Uhh… sorry.”

“_Why are you apologizing?!” _ Christopher wails, and everyone agrees eagerly, tittering amongst themselves over what will undoubtedly be one of the most memorable party moments of the semester. _ Remember when that ball player burst in with Link and they made out without sayin’ a word? _

Rhett simply exists, feeling Link kiss his neck—natural and possessive, and Rhett can’t _ stop _smiling if he’d wanted to. But he doesn’t, just closes his eyes as Link hugs him and nuzzles into the dry sweat on his neck, inhaling deeply.

“Hey,” Link murmurs against his skin, and Rhett cocks his head down for Link to speak into his ear. “Do you wanna go to my place...?”

Rhett has no idea if Link has a roommate, or what’s entailed in an invitation like that—but he’s riding a high so real and palpable that he doesn’t care, and he memorizes the way Link shivers when he presses his lips to the shell of his ear and whispers, “Please.”


	7. Trying Together

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heads up, this chapter includes recreational drug use. (What? Weed in one of my fics? Shocking.)

The nerves in Rhett’s stomach directly correlate with the distance left to Link’s apartment; each street they turn down cranks up the static in his ribs, and by the time he’s pulling his truck into the indicated lot overlooked by a tall, rust-bricked building, his entire body feels like it’s asleep. Wild numb all over and icy hot at the same time.

As frenzied as they’d been leaving Rachel’s hand-in-hand and rushing down the stairs like horny teens on prom night, only Link has retained a trace of that energy. He’s silent, but in high spirits, and once Rhett parks and lets the truck die down to its battery, he stares at the LED display on the dashboard. Dolly’s singing a touch too loud for Rhett’s comfort. Link turns it down some notches, unprompted.

“You ready?” He unbuckles and rests his hands on his thighs, relaxed and open.

Rhett spares a long look over the other cars in the lot around them, half-expecting to recognize some of the makes and models—but whose would he even know? His teammates’? That’s about as extensive as his rolodex goes, and with tented eyebrows he clears his throat.

“Do a lot of students live here?”

It takes a few seconds for Link to respond, quieter than before. “A few, yeah.” 

“...Right.”

“You worried about being seen with a guy?”

“I’m in my uniform,” Rhett mutters through a self-degrading chuckle, not wanting it to be taken the wrong way. But thankfully—after the display at Rachel’s—Link is back to understanding and tolerance. He’s a fountain of it, frankly; one Rhett’s still allowed to drink from.

“You wanna wear my hoodie over top…?” Link’s already unzipping his baggy green one when Rhett shakes his head, motioning to the pack on the floor under the teddy bear.

“I’ve got one. You don’t want me stinkin’ up your clothes—I need a shower somethin’ awful.” With a small smile that’s clearly damming up a remark that would no doubt make Rhett’s face red, Link fetches the bag. Rhett pulls out his hoodie, slips it on with some difficulty—elbowing the horn of his truck once to startle Link into rolling laughter—and gently places the teddy bear in the pack before zipping it up. “Can’t do nothin’ about my shorts, I guess.”

“It’s okay, Rhett. If anyone asks, I’ll say I’m… helping you with homework or something. But no one’s gonna ask.”

“Yeah… yeah. Okay.” Rhett throws his hood up and removes the keys from the ignition. He opts for his door, pausing only to turn and examine Link; he really does seem weirdly fine with all the paranoia. Digging up the same courage from earlier, Rhett reaches over and squeezes his hand, imagining their fingers lacing together pleasantly. “I’m sorry,” he breathes, shaking his head slowly in disbelief of self. Ridiculous.

“It’s okay, Rhett.” Just like that, Link fulfills the fantasy and interlocks their caress, sliding a reassuring thumb down the side of Rhett’s palm. “Can we hang back a sec?”

The request might as well be a command; Rhett limps into the seat, grateful that the overhead cabin light is off. It’s just them in the dark. Sometimes it feels like he sees Link exclusively under starlight and streetlamp.

Link stares at their hands in his lap for an achingly long time before he cuts the silence, speaking deliberately. “I know you’re nervous. It’s really okay, Rhett. We don’t… we don’t gotta do anything you don’t want to. Yeah?”

They’d only just arrived and already the disrobed ravishing Link in Rhett’s head—laying back in his bed with _ I want you _ eyes, pliable, his musculature no longer restricted to Rhett’s wet dreams and dry spell, pierced dick pulsing with need for _ him_—that image fades. Just a fraction, it slips into sepia, but the falter of it stammers Rhett.

“I—but I _ do _want,” he insists, grabbing at smoke. Link smiles once more and gathers Rhett’s hand with both of his own, as if it’s a baby bird. Frail.

“That’s okay, too. I just meant you can relax.”

“Right.”

“I know it’s scary.”

“You’re not scary,” reiterates Rhett with a testy glare—_don’t make me go over this again_.

“That’s not what I said.” Craning down to look up at the sparsely-lit windows of the apartments, Link hums. “Fine. Even if it’s not scary, it is _ new _to you, and that’s normal. I just…” Rhett watches Link’s tongue swathe over his lower lip in thought. “I don’t want you to push yourself. No matter what I texted you the other night.”

What he’d texted? Rhett files through everything they’d sent one another since exchanging numbers, most of it memorized through obsession alone, and he doesn’t recall… 

Wait. 

_ If I’m gonna be yours, you’ve gotta treat me like I’m yours. _

Shit. Rhett hadn’t even thought about that.

Link must have been expecting things to go that way though, ‘cause who invites the person they’re into back to their place _ not _ to get down and dirty with them? Fuck, Rhett had been excited about it as recently as twenty minutes ago—he’d been so thrilled with the idea of just _ being _with Link that he hadn’t considered knowing the ropes. 

Of knowing _ how _to be with another guy in general.

A fresh coat of dread pours over Rhett’s limbs and locks him in place, undoubtedly the exact opposite effect Link had been hoping for. But evidently his quietude registers as wordless acceptance; Link brings Rhett’s hand to his lips and gives it a quick kiss before he’s hopping out of the truck.

What else can Rhett do but follow into the blustery night?

He only catches details that fall into his line of sight on their walk up to Link’s apartment: the spot-stained puce carpet of the lobby; the coffee spill that’s dried into a tacky blotch on the tile of the elevator floor; the dated diamond pattern in the hall and how the bag against his hip measures each pace, eating the shapes one by one. Only when Link jingles keys from his pocket does Rhett rejoin reality. 

“Here we are,” Link announces, and opens his door to flip on the light.

Careful not to bump into anything, Rhett ducks through the entryway and stops to admire the place where Link sleeps every night. 

It’s… exactly as it should be. 

A studio apartment—not much larger than the dorms on campus, but much, _ much _cleaner than any dorm. The kitchenette to Rhett’s left holds essential appliances that have been polished free of fingerprints. To his right is a nondescript door—presumably, the bathroom—and straight ahead is one of the coziest, most inviting sights Rhett’s ever seen.

A queen mattress homes maroon-and-cream microfiber blankets and poofy pillows, all pushed against the wall before a low window that overlooks the glowing city of Raleigh. In the windowsill rest a variety of trinkets: a tiny replica car of General Lee, a leather journal with a pen resting atop and a harmonica suspiciously close by (_ Link plays harmonica? _), a BB-8 figurine, and candles that have seen their share of burn. There’s a light-wooden desk and laundry hamper across from the foot of the bed… and that’s it.

While the surfaces and floor are clean enough to lick, the walls are _ absolutely plastered _with posters. Rhett inches into the room, turning in slow wonder to catch some names while Link clicks the front door shut and deadbolts it. 

_ Fight Club. Blues Traveler. Orville Peck. Little Miss Sunshine. Merle Haggard. Ratatat. Pulp Fiction. _

“Wow,” Rhett chuckles, eyes skimming over a few titles that’re too buried to see the light of day. The chaos brightens and darkens Link’s room simultaneously, and it’s oddly welcoming; truly feels like a home.

“I wanted to paint the walls, but that’s against the terms of my lease. Figured this was the next best option,” Link explains, passing over to the bed and plopping down. He hunches over on his knees and tents his fingers to watch Rhett admire his cozy abode.

“Nice place. I really like it.” Rhett fails to mention that a large part of that is due to the tinge of Link’s scent in the air. The entire space smells like him: faint shampoo with a feint of cologne, warm and intoxicating. Hard not to want to bury his face into Link’s sheets and breathe deep—just the thought makes Rhett hazy-headed—but if his bed’s anything like the rest of his apartment, it’ll only smell of detergent.

“Thanks. You can put your stuff down wherever you want,” Link nods to the floor.

“You sure? I won’t upset the feng shui?” wonders Rhett with a playful grin. Laughing, Link leans back on his palms and shrugs.

“You might. But I’m willing to take that risk.”

Letting his pack fall from his shoulder to his elbow, Rhett lowers it to the carpet and fixes his hands to his hips, still gazing about at the decor. Honestly he could try to see every single poster and would _ still _find something new every time he looked around. 

“Wanna sit down?” Link interrupts. Perhaps not to be taken as eager, he gestures to both the spot beside him on his bed and then to the desk chair.

“Oh—yeah! My bad.” Rhett toddles over and settles beside Link. Bull_ shit _ he’s gonna come up here and sit anywhere but right next to him. 

The second they’re within touching distance again and there’s no music to fill the space between, Rhett’s faced with the reminder of _ expectations. _

They’re now at their destination. Link’s here—just the two of them, alone, and the timbre of Link’s extended invitation is syrupy and low in Rhett’s memory. Rhett wonders if he’d accepted too hastily as Link lets out a long sigh.

“You must be exhausted,” Link points out, and Rhett blinks.

“Why?”

“The… the game?” 

“Oh. Right. I’m… I’m fine.”

“Oh. Good.”

“Yeah.”

…

_ This is agonizing. _

Rhett wrings his hands in his hoodie, begging his nerves to steel just enough to do _something. _To hold Link’s hand again. To lean over and kiss his cheek—it would only take a peck, he knows, for things to snowball out of control. But Rhett would be responsible for steering that snowball away from catastrophe, which is too much. Especially after Link had specifically given him the reins to allow him to choose just how far he’s comfortable with.

Having power in this situation is… not ideal, considering he’s turning out to be a flustered moron. How in the hell had he managed to get with Link at the first party, anyway?

“Rhett.”

Timid, he slights his head just enough to side-eye Link. The brunet’s calm. Right with himself, level. Carefree, save the concern for his uneasy guest.

“It’s okay. We can just watch somethin’, if you want.”

_ No. _

“I’m—give me a minute. I’ll be okay. Sorry.”

“You don’t have to keep apologizing. You wanna lay down together? Cuddle?”

_ Cuddling leads to… other stuff. _

“Maybe.”

Link twiddles his thumbs before standing and spiking Rhett’s pulse with his sudden decisiveness. He’s surely about to be escorted back down to his truck.

“You want something to help you relax?”

Rhett snaps his gaze up to Link, who’s not even smiling anymore. His face isn’t cruel by any means—above all, he’s eager to make this easier, and a vice aches around Rhett’s heart, clamping tight. Why is he so _ nice _ about everything? It’s just gonna make this a hell of a lot harder to deal with when he realizes Rhett has no idea what he’s doing and shouldn’t be in bed with a guy like Link. Jesus. 

But then, that _ is _how they’d gotten together the first time; Rhett had been drunk. And loose. Maybe it’s not such a bad idea, if it lets him act...?

“I—Link…” Bowing his head, Rhett palms his nape and tries to breathe out long, but it’s unsteady. “You don’t want me drunk for all of our time together, do ya? I don’t want that. I wanna be able to have you… sober. Y’know?”

Link laughs—actually _ laughs, _a lighthearted, tinkling thing that startles Rhett from his melancholy. “I’m not talkin’ about beer, man. You ever smoke?”

“You mean weed?” Rhett looks on as Link steps over to the window and opens it. Wind rushes in, fluttering the unpinned edges of a couple of posters. It’s crisp and clean.

“Yep. Ever get high?” Not waiting for an answer, Link bends and opens the bottom drawer of his desk—giving Rhett an eyeful that’s hard to ignore—and pulls out a bong and a bag of pot. 

“Not in a few years,” Rhett admits, rubbing his neck, which is surely gonna be raw before the night’s through.

Link pauses in a half-sit at the desk, glancing at Rhett a few times. “Are you okay with it? We don’t have to. I don’t have any beer though.”

“It’s totally fine. It wasn’t a choice to stop smoking. Just not my friends’ cup of tea.”

“See, that’s weird to me,” Link mumbles over his shoulder as he begins packing a bowl for them with light pokes. “Smoking is way easier on recovery than alcohol. I’d think athletes would prefer some coughing over hangovers a few times a week.”

“You haven’t met my friends,” laughs Rhett, grateful for the distraction of the glass, but Link steals a snarky side-long at him.

“I met Brad.”

“...Shit. I’m sorry.”

“Rhett, I’m teasing! More than anything I was mad he cockblocked us.” Blindingly fast at prepping his ride of choice, Link dusts off his hands and takes the bong to the kitchen to fill it with water. He even adds ice cubes to the long tube-y part. Rhett’s… never seen someone do _ that _before. “I was about to get a kiss, goddammit. And now that teddy bear’s perfect wingman abilities have gone to waste. I was a shoo-in!”

Chuckling, Rhett lets Link’s demeanor soak into him and feels his tension begin to eke away. His muscles slacken and Link rejoins him, sitting carefully and producing a lighter from his palm. “Well, we ended up at your place anyway, didn’t we?”

Link stops suddenly and the hand holding the lighter flops to his thigh in defeat. With soft eyes and a small smile, he asks, “Rhett, was the bear stupid?”

“What?!” Link’s defeat is so palpable that Rhett bursts into a quick round of laughter. “No! It was… it was _ really _sweet,” he decides, giving Link his best grin.

The way Link lights up, doing his best to mirror it and eyes flicking down to Rhett’s lips? It’s a lot.

“Well good. I’m glad.” He extends the bong to Rhett and nudges the lighter into his hand. “Start us off?”

“Sure.” It’s been a long time, but Rhett’s sure he knows how to do this. Hiking one knee up onto the bed, Rhett flicks the lighter—and it goes out. A few more times he tries, getting flashbacks to the last time he’d tried using one of these damned things around Link—and then he realizes it’s the breeze coming in through the window. “Is there a chance we could close that?” Rhett points.

“‘Fraid not. Can’t have it stinking up in here.” Pursing his lips, Link leans over and mumbles, “Here,” using his hands to shield the lighter from the wind. The cocoon he makes is conscientious and closer to Rhett’s fingers than it needs to be. 

Such a small gesture. Rhett blushes, nonetheless.

“Thanks.” The sixth time’s the charm, and Link’s cupped hands hover over the flame as Rhett puts it to the weed. The chamber fills with smoke and Rhett takes it down, anticipating a burn and coughing—but then the appeal of the ice cubes makes sense, and he ogles the bong with awe. Link giggles, and Rhett crawls over to the window and aims his smoke outside kinda uselessly.

“Nice, right?”

“That’s amazing. That didn’t burn at all.”

“Well, you’re also used to smoking cigarettes. Might have somethin’ to do with it.” It’s Link’s turn, and the second he strikes the lighter, Rhett’s returning the favor; he doesn’t need to get nearly as close to the little flame, though, and Link smirks as he takes a hit. He lets it out in the general direction of the window and nods to Rhett’s palms. “Your hands are _ so _big, dude.”

“I know.” Smiling, Rhett turns them around and inspects them. “Is it weird?”

“Here,” Link presses, holding up one of his own. Rhett’s used to this—it happens pretty often, especially when he meets fans with kids. He fits their palms together and Link gauges the way Rhett’s fingers dwarf his own. “_Whoa._”

“Not too bad. Usually people make me feel like a freak.”

“No way,” Link snorts, busying his mouth with another hit as Rhett succumbs to tingles. He’s light, floating around internally. Bouncing from poster to poster in his mind. “I love how big your hands are. S’hot,” hisses Link through smoke, popping Rhett’s bubble and humbling him.

“No.”

“Yep. Biceps, too. All of you’s just… real nice to look at, Rhett.”

Affronted with pleasant warmth all over, Rhett presses his hand to his mouth and stares at Link, who sets the bong on the desk and flashes a winning smile. If he’s not careful, Rhett will get lost in those eyes and won’t ever speak again. Not when he’s being flattered by someone so far out of his league.

“_No,” _he insists, muffled, and Link barks a laugh. “Stop, bro. S’embarrassing.”

“I think you like being told you’re handsome, Rhett.” 

“Liiink.”

All Link does is beam sweetly, regarding Rhett as if he’s the center of his universe now that he’s stoned. Rhett’s only beginning to feel safe from the flattery when Link ducks and pulls another item out of his desk drawer, shaking it in a fist with a rhythmic click. “Never thought I’d get to see you in my bed, that’s for damn sure.”

“What you got, there?” Rhett pleads, desperate to redirect the conversation. _ Anywhere _but towards more compliments—he’ll melt if they don’t stop. In lieu of an answer, Link holds up a small iridescent green bottle, and Rhett squints up at it. “Izzat… nail polish?”

“Yeah. Do you mind?”

“Nah,” Rhett shrugs, waving Link off and fluffing out his hair. “Go nuts.”

“I meant on you, man,” Link prods, grinning, and Rhett’s jaw might as well fall off.

“No! That’s super girly.”

“No it ain’t. It’s just pigment. Color.” Settling back down beside Rhett, he showcases the color to them both. It _ is _ pretty. Metallic, almost. A deep, forest green. “And if it _ is _girly, that ain’t bad either.”

“Do _ you _use it?”

“Yeah. Sometimes. Haven’t been in the mood in a while, but it’s relaxing to do your nails while watching YouTube or whatever.” Link straightens his back to show how seriously he’s taking this pitch. That determination ain’t gonna peter out, is it? “Can I at least paint your toenails? It’ll come off fast, what with you runnin’ around all the time. No one’ll see it. ‘Cept me, o’course.”

Rhett doesn’t mean to, but he’s squinting at Link, and the longer the stare stretches the more Link giggles and gives the polish intermittent rattles of excitement, eyebrows waggling. 

He’s _ such _a goober.

“Fine,” relents Rhett with an eye-roll in the hopes he looks more exasperated than he feels. A small _ “yay” _squeaks out of Link as he slides to the floor and begins untying Rhett’s shoes for him, sitting cross-legged.

“I can do that!” huffs Rhett genially, starting on the other shoe and toeing them off along with his socks. With his tootsies bared, he worries about the fact that he hasn’t showered since that morning—but if they smell, Link doesn’t let on. He only steadies Rhett’s heel on his thigh and opens the bottle, starting posthaste.

Link is delicate with his work, and for the first two toes Rhett watches in quiet fascination. It’s almost like an art form where a stray bit of paint wouldn’t be the end of the world. So careful. Pleased with their set-up and maybe even _ enjoying _it a little bit, Rhett relaxes and closes his eyes. Been a long time since he was last high—twelfth grade, maybe? Freshman year? It’s nice, he decides, lounging back on the bed.

Too soon, Link’s blowing cold air on Rhett’s toes after an “All done!” It’s lack of dexterity alone that Rhett isn’t able to smudge the paint when he recoils the digits in surprise. 

“Oh, gosh.”

Link giggles, setting the bottle aside and taking one of Rhett’s feet into both hands. “You ticklish, McLaughlin? Gonna be a problem if you can’t stay still, waitin’ for this to dry. ‘Specially while I’m down here.”

Rhett shifts his gaze from the Star Wars poster on the ceiling to Link’s face framed between his thighs and pulls a loopy wince. “Don’t call me by my last name, man.”

“Why not?” The question is daring and deep, and Link’s eyes practically sparkle. The touches on Rhett’s feet grow intentional—not skittish, but… _ there. _Possessive. They cradle the sides of his pronounced arch and a single finger slowly trails down his heel, testing the calloused skin. It’s a hell of a distraction for having been asked a question. 

“Too formal,” Rhett manages, head suddenly thick with runaway thoughts.

Maybe it’s his imagination, or the buzz, or the fact that he actually _ has _relaxed enough to feel okay thinking like this, but the glint in Link’s eye whisks Rhett straight back to their time on the porch together. Kisses trailing along Rhett’s arm, at the time scandalous and horrifying—now a forbidden, fuzzy memory Rhett relishes in and allows to course through his extremities. The attention had been pornographic, and revisiting that fragment in time just as Link gently lifts Rhett’s foot and purposefully pushes his lips against Rhett’s ankle is a sobering rush.

Rhett squirms, hips grinding back into the bed under Link’s predatory gaze. The needle pinning him to a display board, on his back as a specimen to be observed and enjoyed. “_Link,” _he groans, halfhearted but with a thrumming beneath that tweaks Link’s cupid’s bow into a smirk.

“Every single part of you is _ so _good, Rhett. I hope you know it.”

Without thinking Rhett pulls his hoodie down over his crotch, desperate to shield any tenting of his shorts from Link even if it’s _ totally _ warranted. It’s still embarrassing, after all, and Link’s not backing down a bit. “I wanna kiss every single muscle,” he drawls, lifting Rhett’s other foot and giving it a matching smooch down toward his toes. “You’ve worked real hard to look like this. _ Someone _should show you how tight your body is.”

Is this real? The dire wish that Rhett weren’t high so that he could remember those words perfectly hits him hard, but this is how the night’s going, and he stretches his arms to either side and starfishes out to drag the plush blankets towards himself, ruining their folds and clutching them like life rafts to calm his rattle. “_Fuck_, Link. You best stop if you know what’s good for you.”

“Is that an ‘I actually want you to stop’,” Link hushes, and his palm runs up Rhett’s thigh, erupting the blond’s sore legs in a stretching shiver, “or is that an ‘I have ways of shutting you up’ stop?”

Rhett’s smiling at nothing, eyes slipping closed as the hand exploring his inner thigh slides across the mesh of his shorts. He feels Link sit up and crawl in close—hipbones slipping between Rhett’s knees, that honeyed throat sweet-talking their bodies together—and Link’s _ so _ warm and inviting. Caring, taking his time, making sure Rhett’s right where he is in this; and Rhett _ is. _With a happy hum, he reaches down and strokes Link’s forearm hovering over his pelvis.

“I’d never make you shut you up, doll.”

Such a simple word, for its impact: Link bites his lower lip and lets his lids fall low, sits up taut and finally makes contact with Rhett’s cock through the fabric of his basketball shorts, rubbing a heavy pet that echoes the first time Link had _ ever _touched him.

Rhett goes to moan—but the sound hitches in his throat, and Link stops as quickly as he’d started.

Something’s wrong.

Something is horribly, _ horribly _wrong.

“Uh.” Rhett flexes his thighs, trying to wake his body back up—_praying _he’s in some kind of nightmare—but when he clocks Link again, the guy is simply staring at the hand he has on Rhett’s clothed dick, shocked neutral. All hints of arousal gone from his eyes.

Rhett can feel it acutely now, that despite how goddamn unfathomably _ sexy _Link is in everything he says and does—that he’s handsome and enticing to the point that Rhett’s entire identity had come crashing down around him—Rhett’s most basic of instincts are failing him. 

His cock isn’t hard. It’s not even _ half- _hard.

Now? Right now, when Link’s straight out of Rhett’s filthiest fantasies, here in the flesh, when Rhett’s _ in Link’s fucking bed, _ about to take Rhett into his hands like putty—_now _is when his dick fails for the first time in his life?!

“That’s—” Mortified, Rhett props himself up onto his elbows, glancing down at the offending area. He should pinch himself. Maybe slap himself as hard as those “tight” muscles will allow, because this _ can’t _ be happening. In the name of all things holy—if _ this _happens with Link...? Rhett’s gotten out of a lot of stuff in the past through apology and shitty excuses, but shit, there’s a line drawn somewhere, right?! He might as well tie a fucking coroner’s tag around his dick if this is how this is gonna go.

Words clog behind his teeth, and where Link has never let Rhett flounder in the past, he’s still wearing that expression of total blank. His hand’s still on it, and _ Jesus Christ, wake up!! Either from this nightmare, or if the limp dick could stop, that would be fine too! _

“Link, I’m… I dunno,” Rhett blurts airlessly, fumbling for words. “I’m into it! I am, I swear to God, I’m—I’m turned on up _ here!” _He motions wildly to his upper half, and Link finally, blessedly reanimates. He offers a smile of condolences that reads false disappointment all over before raising from his knees and crawling to lay beside Rhett.

“Calm down, Rhett. It’s really okay. It happens sometimes.”

“I’m—you _ gotta _believe me, please say you believe me?” 

“I do,” Link nods, but the spark is gone from his movements. “It happens sometimes. Might be ‘cause I got you stoned,” he laughs half-heartedly, and that’s it then, isn’t it? 

Rhett has officially fucked this up beyond repair. 

There aren’t enough apologies to cover for a faux pas like this, and so Rhett resigns himself to staring at the ceiling. He zones out looking between posters and rehomes the blankets to pile on his chest, seeing Link check his phone in his periphery. But it must just be to get the time, because he clicks it off swiftly and ahems. 

“You wanna stay the night? It’s late. We can still cuddle.”

Rhett turns it over in his head, numb from every angle and unable to see a reason to stay. Link hates him now. To him, surely it seems like all the promises of reciprocation were lies, and he’s only offering his bed out of some obligatory kindness.

“You don’t want that,” Rhett whispers, and Link nudges him with his knee.

“Rhett, I _ promise _ it’s okay! I mean, yeah, I’m fuckin’ worked up to the moon and back, but you think I’d forget how you normally want me just like _ that?” _He snaps his fingers. 

It’s… well. That’s a fair point. Rhett had been ravenous for that nude of him. And on the porch. And dozens of times alone with his hand. Christ.

Carefully, Rhett rolls onto his side and startles a bit to find himself nose-to-nose with Link. But he doesn’t correct the distance—just fixes his attention on the stubble on Link’s chin. “You really won’t mind if I stay?”

“You think I only want you for your dick, Rhett?” Link asks sincerely, and subdued, Rhett shakes his head barely.

“Nah.”

“Right. I’d love to cuddle with you. Please don’t beat yourself up about this. We’ll have more opportunities.” A hopeful smile tickles Link’s cheeks, and Rhett heaves a sigh, admiring his eyelashes before creeping forward and kissing one of them.

“Thank you. I dunno what’s wrong with me.”

“Weed. Performance anxiety. Exhaustion. Take your pick.”

_ Performance anxiety. _

That’s even worse, ‘cause that’s _ definitely _it, Rhett realizes as soon as he hears it. And that can’t be fixed by eating chips or getting a good night’s sleep.

“Fuck.”

“We will,” Link teases, rubbing the length of Rhett’s arm and eyeing his bicep. Right. He’s still revved up and ready to go, no doubt. Rhett fiddles with his eyebrow bar, only thinking better of it when the risk of infection nags at him distantly. 

God, he wants to _ evaporate_, but he’ll have to settle for trying to apologize thoroughly enough until they fall asleep—even the thought of trying to get Link off without worrying about himself is unnerving. He’d do it wrong. He’d fuck up somehow.

“You need anything, before we hit the hay?” Link asks, sitting up and resetting the atmosphere. 

Casting the blankets aside, Rhett tries to seriously consider it and can only think of one thing. “Would you mind if I take a shower? Don’t wanna sleep in your bed all dirty from sweat.”

“You can’t tell me what I wouldn’t want,” jests Link, smirking. At least he’s still in good spirits.

“Trust me—there’s a difference between good body odor and _ bad _body odor.” Hell, maybe it’s for the best Rhett couldn’t “perform.” He likely reeks and Link is just being kind.

“Yeah, you can shower. Towels are under the sink. There’s an extra toothbrush in there too, in its packaging,” Link nods. “You need pajamas?”

“Uh… nah. I can—I have a change of clothes in my pack,” Rhett stands and throws a thumb at the bag slumped against the wall. “If you don’t mind me… sleepin’ in my boxers?” The look Link gives him is sarcastic without words, and Rhett bobs his head in chagrined truth. “Right. I’ll… I’ll go shower.”

A clean pair of underwear later in his listless fingers, Rhett lets himself into the bathroom and shuts the door, slumping back against it. He’s still high, and that’s fine, but it’s making thinking difficult. Everything had gone from wonderful to _ circle of hell _ so fast that he isn’t sure it had even happened—only it definitely had, and now Link probably thinks he isn’t sexy, which in itself is the most laughable notion Rhett’s ever kicked out of his own head. 

What a fuckin’ mess.

Stripping down and setting his clothes on the toilet, he turns on the shower as hot as the water will go and promises to make this fast in case Link pays utilities. A clean towel is retrieved and left out, and he steps into the stream of water so quickly that it scalds his skin red and steams his vision over. 

Good. He doesn’t want to be able to see any part of himself in here, honestly. If his toe polish washes off, that’s… fine. 

Careful not to upset the zen of Link’s shower, he picks and chooses things carefully—borrows a hanging loofah to scrub a tiny amount of body wash into the pits of his neck, arms, and groin. The water crashes hard over his scalp when he wets his hair and massages a bare minimum of shampoo into it. Why should he be allowed to use Link’s toiletries, anyway?

Rhett stands in the stall and betrays his earlier promise of a short wash, closing his eyes and letting the wet cascade over his brow and rivulet down over his eyelids. The warmer he gets, the more fatigued he admits he is; his muscles unknot and unravel, his joints loosen, and breathing becomes easier and more natural.

He’d won a game today. It was supposed to be a good day.

Hopefully down the road when they’re inevitably not talking anymore, Link will remember the win and not the spectacular failure that had occurred after.

If Rhett’s lucky, that’ll be the only part of him that Link will remember.

A noise nudges Rhett from his fugue—a thudding click—and he steps from the water and rubs his reddened eyes open with care. The bathroom settling? 

But then Link’s soft voice comes to him from the linoleum, imploring and timid.

“Rhett…?”

Despite being soaked, Rhett’s suddenly parched.

“S-Sorry—I’m done, let me just—”

“Wait.” 

Rhett stills his hand over the faucet’s knob, straining his ears to hear over the rush.

“Can I join you…?”

Rhett eases to his full height, eyeline over the showerhead, and he turns to examine Link’s shadow on the curtain. “...Yeah.”

The plastic separating them rustles to the side, and Rhett’s heart skips a beat when Link’s lithe, undressed form steps his way into the shower lightly and pulls the curtain to. There’s too much vapor to see him clearly, but the space he takes up is so much more than Rhett would have assumed—Link’s never been as small as the people in Rhett’s history. In that moment where he turns and looks up at Rhett with soft cerulean eyes, Rhett is humbled by his presence.

Why should Link praise Rhett’s muscles when his own are so perfect? The angles of his sharp shoulders and slope of his chest are perfect, the dip of his collarbones are perfect, his angelic face is perfect, his stomach that beads water and trails down towards his cock—unpierced from this angle and not as neglected-looking as Rhett has feared—is perfect, perfect, _ perfect_.

Looking at Link’s nudity in earnest, Rhett knows he wants to change. In a _ big _ way; he wants to steer the path of his life in a way he hasn’t before, even if it’s terrifying, even if he doesn’t know where he’ll end up—so long as Link part of the destination. He’s the only thing that makes sense in Rhett’s muddled mind.

Link’s holding his gaze, surreal as anything Rhett’s never been able to explain. With attention to their limbs—careful not to let their bodies touch—Link steadies his arm on the wall and stretches onto his tiptoes to kiss Rhett.

It’s gentle at first, testing the heat of the shower and malleability of his partner, yet when Rhett reveals himself with a breathy whine, Link breaks instantly. He licks his way into Rhett’s mouth with a desperation belying the state of his cock. The kiss is wet—irresistible in a brand exactly specific to this careful experiment, just like the rest of Link—and Rhett subjects himself to it with open arms. 

Stubble scratching his cheeks. Link tastes like weed and something sweet that Rhett wants to have on his tongue for weeks to come. Prying his eyes open just enough to see Link’s focus trained on Rhett’s blushing cheeks, he rumbles and reaches for him just in time for Link to pull away, stunned.

“I—Rhett,” he starts, placing a careful hand on Rhett’s chest to keep him at bay. Rhett swelters over him, and Link swallows hard, struggling to get words out. Pupils blown wide. “I’m sorry. I… I went about it wrong, earlier. I told you that I was going to let you make the first move, and I didn’t. You need to be prepared for it and initiate it yourself, not have it sprung on you. You should be in control, and you should _ want _it, and—”

Rhett’s heard enough. 

He wraps an arm around Link’s waist and brings them together, the same way he had when he’d kissed him in front of everyone, free hand slipping down to Link’s slick, ready cock, and giving him a hard stroke. Link’s eyes flutter shut and his mouth falls open in a silent, wrecked moan, blushing—and it’s the single most gorgeous thing Rhett’s seen in his life. 

The balls of Link’s piercings roll under Rhett’s fingertips, railing him with want and filthy impulses too fickle to fulfill in a shower, and—careful not to catch any of Link’s metal—Rhett doubles down with a grunt. He leans back against the shower tile, pulling Link to stand between his spread thighs and pumping body wash into his hand in a clumsy hurry.

Link swells and buries his face in Rhett’s neck as impossibly large hands find his cock again, now soaped and gliding over the length of his shaft in long, pulling tugs. Each round reckons Link further into Rhett’s chest and it doesn’t take long before he’s openly moaning, trying to muffle the noises into flesh and—thank _ God—_failing beautifully. 

Such a small, grabbable waist, and Link feels _ right _in Rhett’s palm, arrested against him under the onslaught. He’s trying to brace himself on the wall at Rhett’s back, but each time he gathers a shred of his bearings, Rhett reclaims it to the steam around them: kisses him roughly, pants into Link’s ear, slips an exploratory finger towards Link’s ass—not with purpose, just… curious. He isn’t totally sure of what feels good for him.

But Link unravels easily, overwhelmed until he’s lost in Rhett’s care, a mess against Rhett’s stomach and chest, helpless to stop what’s happening to him, belonging entirely to the taller one’s eager embrace.

It would be useless for Rhett to try and hide how intoxicating this is.

He can feel himself smirking, eating up every fleeting needy breath and tattered moan that blooms from Link’s lips with a burning intensity. Funny how something that isn’t even explicit by Rhett’s standards is _ exactly _the most forbidden thing he’s ever seen—something that will pop back into mind clear as the present every time he gets off for the rest of his life. 

He’s shaking as well, he knows, on a breaking loop between kissing Link and plunging down to suckle at his neck and collarbone. 

“R-Rhett,” Link keens, shifting to drag his body over Rhett’s aching cock, “Fuck, make me come… _ please?” _

“No where else to go but my hand, babydoll,” Rhett promises, tightening the arm around Link’s waist and kissing him, sucking his wet lips, locking him into place and stroking for all his worth.

Link shatters into rolling gasps and bucks his hips—rutting uselessly against Rhett’s abs, mindless with it but desperate for _ some _ sense of control over his own release—and Rhett goes white-hot all over when Link tenses against him. Fingers dig into his shoulders, scrambling to wrap arms around Rhett’s neck, and the gasps shift loud and high into a cry as Link spills onto Rhett’s stomach, cock pulsing with each shot and causing Rhett to brace them both against the tile for fear his knees might buckle. It’s almost too much in itself, to feel Link finish on him in warm sticky spurts. 

He’s covered in _ Link_—proof that he’s good enough, that _ he’d _ done that.

Too soon, Link returns to reality with a broken constitution, picking up the pieces of himself from Rhett’s care and trailing sloppy kisses that sound like sobs against his chest and neck.

“Holy _ shit,” _Link whispers, pushing his wet bangs out of his face, and staring through his fierce blush into Rhett’s beard. 

Rhett swells at it all—how done-in Link looks, the timid smile finding its way to Link’s face along with bashful eyes creeping up towards Rhett’s, the fact that Rhett hadn’t _ruined_ _them_. 

“Welcome back,” Rhett husks, knowing he probably looks as fucked as Link feels, but he doesn’t care anymore. It doesn’t matter if he gets off tonight; he’s wearing Link on his stomach, and Link is having trouble even holding their gaze now that he’s been so thoroughly drained. That’s enough—that’s _ way fucking more _than enough. Except for maybe another kiss.

Rhett gives him one, squishing their noses together and melting Link into gorgeous giggles he could eat up like candy. 

“Gracious, Rhett,” Link warbles, and Rhett smiles against his lips.

“I told you I wanted you.”

Link’s chest rocks in a way that announces tears, but when Rhett freezes and pulls away, he seems fine, water trailing over him and wearing an exhausted smile.

“You ready for your turn?” Link asks, and Rhett shrugs.

“I’m… you had a _ real _good time. It was already awesome for me,” Rhett explains with a grin he couldn’t keep away if he wanted to. He’s expecting Link to roll his eyes—to playfully shove off of him and cut the water—but instead Link’s cheeks darken as he watches Rhett’s face, dazed.

“...I really like you, Rhett,” he murmurs, almost too quiet to be heard under the water. His eyelashes are clumped together, long and lovely and wet, and his blue eyes are somehow more intense when there’s no clothing competing for the space. He’s achingly human and beautiful. 

And he’s Rhett’s.

“I really like you too, Link,” Rhett admits, eyes roaming him for the hundredth time, and Link beams.

“Sooo…” Link starts, wiping his cum from Rhett’s stomach in thoughtful sweeps of his palm that Rhett wants to brush away. _ Leave it. _ “What if I _ want _to make you moan my name?”

Rhett presses his lips thin in exaggerated thought before stealing a glance down at himself. “Yep. I think we can arrange that,” he teases, going in for another kiss as Link laughs.


	8. Throughout the Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For clarity, the left side of this log is Rhett. The right changes: Link, Brad, back to Link.
> 
> Heads up, mention of vomiting in this chapter.

_ Text me when you get to class. _

_ Just sat down! _  
_ Thanks again for the ride. _

_ No problem. Thanks for breakfast. _

_ I’ll pay you back soon. _

_ I’m not keeping a running _  
_ tab of every time I spend _  
_ money on you. Lol._

_ We’re together. _  
_ It’s normal. _

_ Right… still not used to it, I guess. _

_ Text me after? _

_ Need to talk to me _  
_ about something? _

_ No? What do you mean? _

_ Oh. Nevermind. :) _

* * *

_ Yo Rhett _

_ Sup Brad _

_ How’s it hanging _

_ Good man good _

_ Was wondering if you _  
_ wanted to hang out this _  
_ weekend?_

_ Maybe grab a few beers _  
_ and shoot the shit _

_ I’ve got lots of homework. _  
_ Should probably stay in _  
_ and catch up_

_ Don’t wanna get kicked off _  
_ the team lol _

_ Damn _

_ Sometime soon then, yeah? _

_ Feel like we haven’t hung out _  
_ in ages _

_ Yeah. Sorry _

_ I’ll let you know when _  
_ things calm down for me _

_ Yeah let me know _

_ I’m up for whatever _

_ You can invite that Link _  
_ guy if you want _

_ He seems cool _

_ Yeah maybe _

_ Gotta go class is starting _

_ What time is _

_ Oh okay _

* * *

  


_ Done. Ugh. _

_ Hey! Y’okay? _

_ Yeah. But whoever thought _  
_ having classes before noon _  
_ was a good idea should’ve _  
_ been shot. Lol_

_ Agreed. Especially when they’re _  
_ as long as yours. _

_ ??? _

_ Wait you don’t have any _  
_ three hour courses? _

_ Of course not. _

_ I assumed that was a film major thing. _

_ Oh. Maybe it is. Lol _

_ How long are business classes? _

_ Still too long. _

_ To be honest I don’t _  
_ really pay attention in ‘em. _

_ Why not? _

_ Don’t like your major? _

_ I could take it or leave it. _

_ Guess I just haven’t stopped _  
_ hoping that I’ll be drafted. _

_ Drafted? _

_ Into the bigs. NBA. College _  
_ basketball’s more popular, _  
_ but I don’t get paid to play. _

_ At least if I signed with someone, _  
_ I could make a living off it. _

_ Wow. _

_ I know. _

_ Go ahead, lemme have it lol. _

_ “How dare you follow _  
_ your dreams while _  
_ ensuring you have a _  
_ way to make money in _  
_ case it doesn’t pan out!”_

_ How was that? :) _

_ Aww, c’mon. Stop. _

_ I know I’m being silly, _  
_ fantasizing about it. _

_ Oh, yeah. _

_ Waking up at 5 every _  
_ morning even when you’re _  
_ hungover or exhausted _  
_ so you can go run and _  
_ lift weights TOTALLY _  
_ sounds like you’re not _  
_ taking your goals _  
_ seriously._

_ That’s just conditioning! _

_ Everyone does it. _

_ You couldn’t pay me enough. _

_ ...all athletes do it lol. _

_ Lol. I still think it’s _  
_ really impressive. _

_ I swear I thought you _  
_ were sneaking off to go _  
_ home this morning._

_ And leave you without _  
_ your car? _

_ What kinda person do you _  
_ take me for? I know I’m an _  
_ ass sometimes but wow_

_ I dunno!! _

_ I thought maybe you _

_ Like _

_ ...Regretted it or something. _

_ Link. _

_ Never. _

_ Last night was incredible. _

_ Really...? _

_ I wouldn’t lie about that. _

_ My only regret is that we didn’t _  
_ do more lol. Our shower left _  
_ me totally drained._

_ I noticed. ;) _

_ Oh geeze lol _

_ I’m in class, man! _

_ What?! I thought you were _  
_ getting lunch or something! _

_ Stop texting me _  
_ and pay attention! _

_ Nope. I told you I don’t pay _  
_ attention in here anyway. :P _

_ And if I were having lunch, _  
_ I would have invited you. _

_ Link? _

_ Hey wait a second _

_ You can’t ghost me just _  
_ cause I’m in class _

_ Come baaaaack _

_ I’m so bored Link please _

_ Would you really have _  
_ invited me to eat with you? _

_ Yaaay you’re back _

_ Duh, babydoll. _

_ Really? _

_ I mean… _

_ ...Maybe. _

_ I’m not trying to make _  
_ you feel bad if you need _  
_ to say no._

_ But _

_ I dunno. _

_ I felt like something _  
_ changed last night, Rhett. _

_ You seemed really happy. _

_ And I thought maybe _

_ If something HAD changed _

_ Then you wouldn’t mind being _  
_ seen with me in public anymore. _

_ It’s just lunch, Link. Not _  
_ like we’d be making out _  
_ on the quad lol. _

_ I guess. _

_ What’s wrong? _

_ There’s something I think _  
_ you should know. _

_ Wait did I say something wrong _

_ Not really. But I still _  
_ wanna tell you. _

_ Okay _

_ One of my neighbors saw _  
_ us getting in your truck this _  
_ morning. He recognized you._

_ His name’s Andy. _  
_ He’s a student here. _  
_ We had freshman _  
_ orientation together._

_ I ran into him in the art _  
_ building today and he _  
_ mentioned seeing us._

_ Together. _

_ I… I denied anything _  
_ was going on. _

_ But people are gonna see _  
_ us sooner or later. _

_ I just thought I’d put that _  
_ out there. _

_ Rhett? _

_ Are you okay? _

_ Sorry _

_ You alright? _

_ I just threw up _

_ Omg you puked in class??? _

_ No _

_ Made it to the bathroom _

_ Holy shit _

_ Rhett… _

_ Wait _

_ Before you say anything _

_ I’m sorry, Link _

_ I really like you _

_ It’s not about you _

_ It’s _

_ I’m _

_ I’m so scared _

_ I didn’t know I was gay. _

_ I had everything figured out _

_ And then you came along _

_ I’m still getting used _  
_ to it, you know? _

_ I’m so scared of people _  
_ knowing something about _  
_ me that I didn’t even know _  
_ until recently_

_ I know, dude. I’m not upset. _

_ I was there once too. _

_ Gay ain't a bad thing to be. _

_ I know that, logically _

_ I know _

_ Maybe it was the way I _  
_ was raised? Not that my _  
_ parents were hateful, but _  
_ they weren’t exactly accepting _  
_ either. I’ve seen some of the shit _  
_ gay people have gone through_

_ And I _

_ I don’t think I’m strong _  
_ enough to handle it. _

_ For what it’s worth, Andy _  
_ seemed happy for us, even _  
_ though I told him he was _  
_ mistaken. _

_ Not everyone is going _  
_ to be hurtful about it. _  
_ Most people will _  
_ accept you, actually._

_ ...Or at least they won’t _  
_ be shitty to your face. _

_ Fuck. _

_ How did you come _  
_ to terms with that? _

_ It’s part of who you are. _

_ You don’t come to terms _  
_ with it. It comes to terms _  
_ with you._

_ It’s a facet of living your life. _  
_ You can either repress the _  
_ things you feel for others, _  
_ or you can accept that you _  
_ won’t be your happiest until _  
_ you embrace this aspect of you. _

_ You make it sound so easy. _

_ It’s easier for some _  
_ than it is for others. _

_ Not trying to make it sound like _  
_ you have to be okay with it right _  
_ this second. You can be gentle _  
_ with yourself. Ease into it._

_ ...But you gotta start easing somewhere. _

_ Yeah _

_ Yeah. You’re right. _

_ I’m sorry, Link. _  
_ You shouldn’t have to _  
_ deal with my shit. You’re _  
_ not a therapist._

_ I “deal with it” because _  
_ I like you, Rhett. And I _  
_ want you to be okay _  
_ with yourself, too. _

_ Nice of you to make _  
_ sure I know you feel _  
_ that way, though. :)_

_ I like you a lot too, Link. _

_ I mean it. _

_ Hush! I’m blushing. Lol _

_ Can I tell you something? _

_ Maybe as a sort of “thanks” _  
_ for being understanding? _

_ Like I’d say no to that. _

_ I’m nuts about you. _

_ Everything about you turns _  
_ me on like crazy, and it’s more _  
_ than just your body. Your laugh, _  
_ how kind and thoughtful you are. _  
_ You’re magnetic._

_ Not to sound like a sappy _  
_ anniversary card, but _

_ You make me a better person. _

_ And _

_ And I don’t want this to be a fling. _

_ ... _

_ Say more? _

_ I want to be brave so _  
_ I can show you off. _  
_ Want people to know _  
_ you’re mine. That you’re _  
_ with me._

_ If I can catch a guy _  
_ like you? Everyone _  
_ should know. I’m proud _  
_ of my trophies lol._

_ I hope you know I’m _  
_ not using you to learn _  
_ how to fuck guys so I can _  
_ bounce after._

_ For fuck’s sake I’m _  
_ sitting in the bathroom _  
_ floor wiping sick off my _  
_ face, I like you so much._

_ And I’m so thankful that _  
_ you’re willing to stick around _  
_ while I figure myself out_

_ Because I wanna _

_ I want to call you _  
_ “my boyfriend” _

_ And I want to be yours. _

_ Please. _

_ Please ask. _

_ Link _

_ Can I call you my boyfriend? _  
_ Will you be that, for me? _

_ Only if you’ll be mine, too. _

_ Fuck yes. _

_ Hahahaha _

_ Okay. Gushy mode off lol. _

_ Rhett, I’m literally eating _  
_ pad thai and trying not to cry. _

_ Aw don’t cry! _

_ I ain’t worth crying over, babydoll. _  
_ Not even happy tears. _

_ Tell that to my extra salty noodles. Lol _

_ Boyfriend… _

_ You’re my boyfriend. _

_ I am. _

_ How’s it feel? _

_ Weird, but… I really like it. _

_ :) I’m glad. I like it too. _

_ So, I know you’re busy _  
_ with practices over the next _  
_ few days, but what about _  
_ Saturdays? Are you busy?_

_ Not too busy for you. ;) _

_ Omg there’s something _  
_ SO strange about you using _  
_ smileys. LMAO_

_ JERK _

_ Seriously though are you _  
_ busy next Saturday? Got plans?? _

_ I do, actually. _

_ Oh _

_ Yeah, I’m gonna hang out _  
_ with my tiny cute new boyfriend. _

_ Awwww omg _

_ ...Wait I’m not tiny _

_ Sure, doll. _

_ >:( _

_ Lol what did you have in mind? _

_ I have tickets to a show. _  
_ You wanna come with? _

_ Yes! _

_ You said yes before I finished _  
_ typing! You don’t even know _  
_ what we’re seeing! Lol_

_ Well, what are we seeing? _

_ A band I like is playing nearby. _  
_ It’s a 21+ show, should be fun. _

_ Cool. What’s the band? _

_ Not to be that person, but… _  
_ you’ve never heard of them. Lol _

_ You sure you wanna invite _  
_ me then? You could find another _  
_ friend who likes them._

_ I would, but see _

_ I just asked you. Sooo _

_ :) _

_ I wanna go with you, Rhett. _

_ Wanna take my boyfriend _  
_ to a show. You got a problem _  
_ with that, punk?_

_ Oh please. Like you could _  
_ even PRETEND to rough _  
_ me up lol. Tiny._

_ Don’t underestimate me! _

_ I’m NOT tiny _

_ Whatever you say. _

_ I’m lookin’ forward to it. _

_ Yay! _

_ ❤ _

_ … _

_ You uhh _

_ You wanna hang out before _  
_ then, maybe? _

_ Gotta be honest, I don’t _  
_ have much money. _

_ My apartment costs nothing. _

_ Well when you put it like that _

_ Hahaha _

_ Hey, babe? _

_ You’re so heavy on the petnames. _  
_ I love it. _

_ Don’t embarrass me jfc _

_ Heh. Sorry. What’s up? _

_ Feel free to say no, but _  
_ you said ‘yes’ once already _  
_ today, so_

_ Would you mind if maybe I uh _

_ I stayed at your place again tonight? _

_ This won’t be a regular thing, _  
_ I promise. Gotta wake up in my _  
_ dorm some days so I can get to _  
_ practice on time._

_ But _

_ Waking up next to you this _  
_ morning was really nice. _

_ You sure you want to? _

_ What, you want me to beg? Haha _

_ I ain’t horny, Neal. Just want _  
_ to sleep with you. _

_ Like… literally _

_ Just sleep _

_ “Not horny”. Uh-huh. _

_ So you’re gonna keep your _  
_ hands to yourself if you _  
_ come over…?_

_ If you ask me, absolutely. _

_ I wouldn’t ask that of you. _

_ I might even be the one _  
_ begging tonight... _

_ Okay I know I’m not _  
_ in class anymore but _  
_ I still don’t need to be _  
_ walking around with a _  
_ stiffy, tone it down_

_ LOL _

_ I could meet you in _  
_ the student center…? _

_ LINK _

_ We would get caught so _  
_ fast are you nuts??? _

_ I mean I’m into it, but _

_ Rhett _

_ I just choked on my water omfg _

_ I meant to head to my place _

_ After class _

_ … _

_ I knew that. _

_ Of course you did. Lol _

_ You dirty dog. _

_ Only when it comes to you. _


	9. Tonight We're Gonna Give It 35%

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning: this chapter contains a derogatory slur.
> 
> Ctrl + click links to open music in a new tab. ❤

“Why is it that whenever you invite me somewhere, the place always ends up looking like we’re gonna get shanked?”

“‘Cause you’ve never stepped outside your comfort zone once in your life.”

“Hey!”

With a shit-eating smirk, Link nudges the feigned offense from Rhett’s features with an elbow to the ribs. “Maybe you shouldn’t be so quick to judge a place by its exterior? How ‘bout that?”

Rhett squares his shoulders and pulls his lips taut, scowling up at the stark venue before them. Finding street parking had been a nightmare and cost them a few blocks’ walk, and now that they’re here, Rhett sees why; the tiny ill-located bar is nestled between a hair salon that undoubtedly closed hours ago and a bakery, pastel worlds away in aesthetic. The taproom lacks all of the quaint finesse of its neighbors: the brick itself has been chalked six ways from Sunday in a giant illegible mural, and the black sign _ Malley’s Axehouse _over the door isn’t even lit. Without the small crowd of smokers out front, no one driving by would be able to tell it isn’t condemned.

“Now we—_shit,” _Link snaps his gaze up to Rhett in a hiccup of panic.

“But I don’t need to.”

“No, Rhett—” A flicker of amusement graces Link’s features for one blessed second, feeding Rhett’s ego. “I forgot to ask if you brought your ID? It’s a 21 and over show. They’re gonna card us.”

“Yeah. I remembered.” Rhett bats his baggy black shirt away from his jeans’ pocket and produces his cardholder. “Right here.”

“Thank goodness.” Mumbling into his chest, Link fetches his own wallet and from it retrieves two printed scissor-cut tickets and his ID, of which Rhett wishes he could steal a peek. Surely Link can’t be flawless in _ that _; no one looks good in their license photo. “You ready to head in?”

“Sure. Should we’ve left your jacket in the car?” Rhett fobs at it, and Link tugs out the ends of the black leather. 

“No way! This is for the show.”

Rhett cocks an eyebrow. “You’re gonna be warm.”

“Then I’ll tie it around my waist.”

“Isn’t that like a… fashion ‘don’t’?”

“For straight people, sure.”

“Right. Of course.”

Rhett follows Link through the fog of nicotine and tries not to grumble about leaving his pack at home—not as hard as it could be, thanks to the stink in the air. Jesus, Link had _ kissed _his ashtray mouth. That alone is reason to quit.

As promised, the bouncer at the door holds out her hand expectantly, and after a thorough examination of their cards, marks their tickets with a red felt pen and lets them in with a solid, “No re-entry.” 

Harsh yellow light floods the establishment’s foyer and shows them their options: follow the age-peeling posters on the hallway walls to a beaten wood counter, which is lined with people milling about drinks as the bartender keeps up smoothly; or head down the staircase to their right into what appears to be a basement, where a soft glow promises another scene of nightlife and vapor.

“Wonder what’s down there,” Rhett mumbles, and Link points to the sign above the well.

“That’s where they throw axes.”

Rhett does a double take before pulling Link out of the way of patrons filing in, pressing them to the wall together closer than necessary. It’s impossible to ignore how Link’s body slots perfectly back against Rhett’s—even clothed—and Rhett shivers, dismissing the thought for later. “What do you mean, ‘throw axes’?”

“This is Malley’s Axehouse. They have like, recreational axe-throwing here. Targets you can chuck rented hatchets at,” Link recounts with a gem of a smile flashing up at Rhett. “But I doubt anyone’s gonna be down there tonight, considering you gotta buy a ticket for the show to even get in.”

“Wait—I wanna throw axes!” Rhett’s hand finds Link’s bicep and squeezes, recoiling him into a squirming giggle Rhett wishes he had on video. He eats it up, playful, “Can we go throw axes?!”

“I’ll b-bring you back sometime! Don’t tickle me, good gracious. But remember, we are _ not _putting off homework night again.”

Satisfied, Rhett returns his hands to his pockets and smirks down at him, trying on his best _ you’re so easy _face to Link’s bashful, downturned smile. He shrugs to the bar. “Lead the way, then.”

Hopefully there’s a set limit on the number of tickets sold tonight, because if not, there’s about to be a serious breach of fire code in Malley’s; the showroom is _ tiny. _The stage is level with the floor and not twenty feet from the bar, already dressed up in bedraggled stools and speakers that dole out muffled music as the equipment awaits its users. Still, the place is nice in a cozy, comforting sort of way.

“Oh my god,” breathes Link, stilled by the nearness of the stage; he could waltz up and take a seat behind the drums, if he wanted. “So _ close_. S’gonna be an intimate show.” He cocks his eyes over to Rhett, chest fluttering to match his new ecstatic grin. “This is gonna be _ awesome.” _

“Even if we stand in the very back?” Rhett wonders. It’s supposed to be a joke, but it’s not. If he stands anywhere but at the far edge of the crowd he’ll have to listen to people calling his spine “asshole” all evening.

“Rhett.” The man in question snaps his gaze back down to Link and finds him trying not to burst into reassurances, eyebrows dammed up high. “We could dance to their music on the roof of this place and I’d still just be happy you came with me.”

Once upon a time that would’ve been too much—would’ve burnt Rhett up from the inside out, even with alcohol in his belly—so when he instead finds himself drinking in Link’s invincible air and resonating with a pang of affection, he smiles. “Goober.”

Against all odds Link’s grin brightens—and _ there’s _the burn.

“Gosh, your eyebrow bar looks _ so _ good with that outfit. I’m glad Gregg’s out of town and you could raid his closet, we’ve gotta get a shirt like that for you. And my necklace on you? _ Man.” _

“Wanna grab a drink?” Rhett cuts in. The offer feels like a distraction to prevent himself from kissing the fondness from Link’s features, and maybe it is. That level of adoration has gotta be dangerous.

“Rhett, I drove.”

“I’ll drive us back, if you wanna grab somethin’.” A well-on-her-way woman in black skinny jeans wobbles by them towards the stage, and Rhett passes a cursory glance over her before throwing a thumb in her wake. “Like that. Tonight’s all for you, man. You deserve to cut loose if you want.”

Link clasps his hands behind his back, rocking on his heels and swaying his shadow on the wall nearest. “You tryna get me drunk, McLaughlin? Just ‘cause you have proof I’m a slutty drunk…?”

“No! I—wait… slutty? I thought you were into _ me _.”

“I was. Still am. I’m joking, Rhett.”

Rhett swears softly and looks over Link’s head as a playful jab finds his chest with victorious chuckles. 

“I don’t want anything to drink. I wanna remember tonight as clearly as possible.”

“Yeah,” assents Rhett with a bob of his head. “Okay.”

_ Then I want to make this a night worth remembering. _

More people flock to the stage with drinks, and it doesn’t take long before a throng separates the boyfriends from the epicenter. Rhett’s about to make a quip about premature excitement when the lights dim marginally and the crowd erupts into screams far louder than should be possible for a gathering of this size. With a glance over his shoulder, Rhett ensures he’s not blocking anyone’s view and notices the bartender at attention, eyes glued to the stage. When he front-faces, Link seems breathless, fingers wrung at his waist as screams fill the venue.

Just who are they here to see, anyway?

A recorded intro kicks off, rumbling the walls, and the shrieks from the fans triple in intensity. A steady drum beat, a soft rift, and three men calmly walk on out to their posts to claim their instruments—guitar, bass, drums—followed by a woman with long, messy brown hair and one arm tattooed black. She collects a guitar of her own and swiftly steps up to the mic, leaning in.

“Hello, Raleigh,” she states, warm and low, and the crowd _ loses its mind. _

Rhett stands witness to a rapidfire series of events: their [music](https://youtu.be/5Q4XJI8B1BI) drowns out the recording; Link presses in closer on his tiptoes, as if drawn in by gravity alone; and the show instantly transforms into a roiling mass of energy united by one woman on stage. The band is intense—their first song _ commands, _ drives power delivered through a hopeful chord progression in a bizarre clash with the fans’ aesthetic:

_ “The ease of your pose, _   
_ the grace of your silhouette, _   
_ the way that your shoulders meet your slender neck. _   
_ Where would we be without all the distance? _   
_ You know I'm already just a skeleton._

_ I don't have the heart to match _   
_ the one pricked into your finger _   
_ of things made to be destroyed, _   
_ all moments meant to pass.”_

Rhett trembles.

Without meaning to, he closes to distance to Link’s back, gaze over his crown, entranced.

Everyone’s moving as one—a sea of chaos, jumping and throwing fists into the air, clapping, bumping into one another as the singer belts out scathing lyrics clearly audible even without her microphone. The _ power _behind them. 

By the beginning of the second [song](https://youtu.be/GcGiQ1GRoOc), Rhett gets it.

“Hey!!”

His attention splinters from the concert down to Link’s heart-shaped face, hair already slicked to his forehead from the heat of the people and his leather jacket. His eyes are sparkling ice blue in the throbbing flashes of white light, and he lets them roam over Rhett’s expression greedily.

Rhett must appear as stupefied as he feels, since Link dissolves into round, euphoric laughter. He mouths along with the words, bobbing in place in front of Rhett and _ begging _to be swept up and kissed stupid.

_ “Do you sleep with your windows open? _   
_ Would you watch through mine if you could? _   
_ I just want to say the words to someone _   
_ like I used to say the words to you._

_ I’m not a crash… land-ing! _   
_ I’m not a crash… land-ing! _   
_ I’m not a crash… land-ing! _   
_ Let me stay up in your orbit a while! _   
_ Let me stay up in your orbit a while!”_

“Orbit me, then!” Rhett yells through a grin, and without missing a beat, Link makes a show of strutting around him in tight circles, racking hooting laughs from Rhett. 

He’s so… in the moment. Contagious and loud, _ look at me. I’m happy. _

The music stretches and morphs as the show continues, feeding the boiling frenzy in the room. Devouring it for fuel, those in attendance let it embolden them; jumping turns into excited pats which devolves further into shoving, bodies thrown against one another in celebration, not caring where they land or who they hit. Suddenly in the surprise line of fire, Link is tossed like a ship in a storm, thrown off balance and smiling despite the harsh crashes against strangers living too hard.

Images spark through Rhett’s mind, of Link slammed to the floor and injuring himself—or worse, falling _ into _ the crowd, lost in a flurry of shoes and people oblivious to the cries for help at their feet—and his stomach flips hard with chill. Tall or not, Rhett’s not looking to get into a fistfight with someone who oversteps their bounds, and he’s _ definitely _not looking to drive Link to the hospital tonight… or worse yet, ride there with him in an ambulance.

“Hey,” Rhett barks, instinctively grabbing Link’s wrist and pulling him close, chest-to-chest. “Stay with me?”

At once the stillest person in the room, Link gapes up at Rhett with renewed… _ something. _Is his hair fucked up? Something on his face…?

“You’re absolutely gorgeous, Rhett,” Link says, the calm words somehow finding their way home through the cacophony around them. Before Rhett has time to roll his eyes or blush or even _ feel, _Link continues, “I don’t think you’re told it enough, or that you think it about yourself. But it’s true. You’re the most handsome man I’ve ever seen.”

Rhett stares down at Link, blindsided and at a loss and skin hot, head hot, _ everything hot_—and Link grabs his shoulders and bounces up to kiss his cheek, alight with life.

“Thanks for being with me.”

A lump prevents Rhett’s throat from producing any answer good enough, regardless of the things he’s eager to say. He can save them for later tonight when they’re alone and it’s quieter, just to make sure Link can hear him clearly.

For now, he grabs Link by the waist and spins him back towards the show, wrapping his arms around Link’s shoulders to shield him from the thrashing bodies. When Link leans back into him and rests his head on Rhett’s chest, it’s a moment that the taller one knows he’ll remember in the exact sort of clarity Link had been hinting at earlier.

The song [changes](https://youtu.be/958nVHI15yk) yet again—into one unprecedentedly slow for the show, settling the writhing bodies around—and Link hums into rocking back and forth, his hands clasping over Rhett’s arms about his chest.

And if the stars ever do align as they do in stories and make everything right in the world, it’s irrefutably responsible for this.

Link is warm and the leather of his jacket is worn and soft. He fits in their embrace like he was _ made _ to be held in this exact way, by Rhett and _ only _ Rhett, and it’s almost too much; Rhett closes his eyes and presses his lips into Link’s damp hair, breathing in his heartbeat and sweat, and he lets himself feel as lucky as he is that his life’s given him this. That their meeting at the party could have tumbled into such a _ thank-God _chain of events—this is a reality where he gets to press his pulse and body and lips to none other than the one of his fixations, his lamentations, his frustrations, his adorations.

Had there ever been a time Link hadn’t perfumed every breath Rhett took?

If you could even call that breathing.

_ “Get me a drink, I get drunk off one sip just so I can adore you. _   
_ I'd walk the entire street out of town just so I can be alone with you. _   
_ Now go when you're ready, my head’s getting heavy pressed against your arm. _   
_ I adore you.”_

Chest hitching.

Link’s grasp tightens. His thumb strokes Rhett’s forearm, brushing in a gentle trawl through the hair there.

It’s natural and _ yes, God, please _when Link reaches up, his hand blindly finding Rhett’s cheek and cradling it for a moment—just long enough for Rhett to close his eyes again and press a kiss to Link’s palm, flushed and barren yet lost at the edge of a crowd.

How long could he have had this? Not the touching, nor a boyfriend, exactly—it’s more than that. The cut is deep, and as he stands there on his feet it drains of infection, slow and steady to the floor below. 

Funny, that in his efforts to smother a piece of him aching to heave a breath, Rhett hadn’t once considered that perhaps he was garroting himself. Now that air courses through and refreshes, each second reawakens and twitches to life things once numbed: his own beating heart not a foot away from Link’s, every acute sense with the music carrying them easily on its back. 

His humanity. 

_ “I kick the gutter in tight shorts, basketball courts. _   
_ Watch me watch you talk to girls. _   
_ I'm known as a right hand slugger, _   
_ any motherfucker wanna touch my lover...”_

What it means to be human, and to accept all entailed by it.

_ Something about this… there’s something here. _

_ I should tell Link. _

“Ugh.”

Rhett perks, ripped of his reverie. He tears his attention along his shoulder, eyes cut sharp and scowling for the source. 

Sure enough, there’s a fella hazed with alcohol, teetering in place and squinting at him. And at _ Link. _

“What was that?” Rhett asks, eyebrows flying high.

“S’what I get for payin’ for to get in, not knowin’ what kinda show this was gon’ be,” the man slurs to himself, bringing his beer to his lips and glaring at their torsos pressed together.

“Then leave.” Wow, had his patience left him just like _ that. _

“Rhett,” Link mumbles, glancing over at their hassler but patting Rhett’s arm to try and bring him back. “Calm down. Ignore him.”

Clenching his teeth on his inner cheek, Rhett steels himself and returns his focus to the stage. This is Link’s night. He came here for this show. _ I’m not about to ruin it. _

“Faggots,” the drunkard mumbles, and it’s well before Rhett unwraps himself from around Link and growls “okay then” that the asshole adds, “With an _ it _like that up there tryna sing, though, guess I shouldn’t be s’prised.”

This time, Link doesn’t try to stop Rhett.

In one clear step, Rhett feels his fist connect with the guy’s nose in a thick _ pop _.

The drunk shit-for-brains is no match for a well-placed sock to the face, and he falls back onto the floor, all alcohol-laden deadweight. Someone in the crowd screams like they’ve just witnessed a murder, but Rhett’s seeing red, hardly notices as he plants a foot square on the center of Mr. Phobic’s chest and hunches down to loom over him. The guy’s sputtering; a spout of red trickles from his nose, eyes wide with rage or fear as Rhett leans down and snarls, “_Fuck you._”

“Ger’offa me!!”

“Eat shit and die in a gutter—maybe you can locate your soul down there one last time before you burn in hell.”

“Hey—_hey!” _

An arm finds Rhett—and thinking it’s Link, he lets it pull him away. But he’s then staring down into the hard eyes of the bouncer, and she motions to the door. _ “Out.” _

Link steps in, hands up in surrender. “But he—this guy was—”

“No,” Rhett says, giving Link a long, unsteady look before nodding. “I’ll go. I’ll, uh. I’ll wait outside, Link. Enjoy the rest of the show.”

Link’s mouth opens and closes as Rhett turns and walks, only catching another glimpse over his shoulder on his trudge to the front doors to ensure that the man responsible for ruining their evening is crawling _ away _from Link to nurse his pride. 

He is.

But maybe he _ isn’t _the man who ruined Link’s evening.

Rhett lets himself into the night, where it’s cool and still and none of the smokers are about. He stretches and flexes his hands, shaking them free of their adrenaline as he paces back and forth on the sidewalk.

Everything’s okay. It’s fine.

_ Fuck that guy! _

God dammit! Everything had been so perfect, and now Rhett has to fucking sit in time out like the petulant child he is, enraged over some prick who _ wasn’t even kicked out for being horrible! _

“Shit,” Rhett spits, crouching on the curb and bringing his knees to his chin to stare out at the empty street. Behind him Malley’s bumps and thrums with the uninterrupted set. He hopes the lead singer isn’t mad. He hopes she doesn’t mind that he punched someone out during their show. _ Surely _it isn’t the first time someone’s been injured at one of their gigs, if the crowds are usually like that.

The front door opens, exposing the [music](https://youtu.be/6MIizoIcim0?t=151) to the night air.

_ “If this is the one chance that really matters, _   
_ well, don't let me fuck this up. _   
_ If you'd told me about all this when I was fifteen, _   
_ I never would have believed it."_

“Rhett.”

Footfall leads Link’s gray tennis shoes to stop by Rhett’s legs, and he eyes them warily. 

“What are you doing? Now you won’t be able to go back inside, man.”

“Rhett. Get up?” Link’s voice is entirely too soft, and Rhett winces into his knees. But he stands slowly, turning just so to look down into what he _ knows _are going to be injured pools of ice.

But Link doesn’t look upset. He doesn’t look… anything. His face is blank—the only thing telling are his wide pupils, and the way his throat bobs before he collects Rhett’s face in his hands and pulls him down into a deep kiss.

Rhett startles, only reminded to participate and cherish it once Link runs his stud over Rhett’s tongue. That’s the only nudge Rhett needs to wrap his arms over Link’s shoulders again, bearing down on him and shivering into the wet warmth. Nipping, sucking, licking into each other.

Link always tastes sweet, even though Rhett knows that’s not possible. 

Rhett’s hand roams, finds its way to Link’s nape and cradles, adjusting their mouths, _ deeper, _and the heat where their skin meets is enough to sing of both of their blushes.

When they break, Rhett presses his forehead to Link's, enthralled and in a world of only them, there on the sidewalk of city night. He shakes his head briskly. “I lost my temper. I’m sorry.”

“Rhett,” Link says again—_God, _Rhett’ll never get tired of hearing his name on Link’s tongue. He licks his swollen lips. “Take me to your dorm.”

Rhett hesitates, stilling the rhythm of their still-swaying bodies for a split second. Had they really been that lost in one another and not noticed?

“Yeah?”

“You said Gregg’s out of town. Right?”

The implication rips through Rhett’s core, landing hot in the pit of his stomach and burning down from there. Easily. Freely. “Yeah. He is.”

“Take me. Please?”

Rhett’s shoulders heave with one shaking breath. He dips to give Link a peck on the lips, fishing into Link’s pocket for his keys—brushing against a length of hardness that’s _ definitely _not clothing, judging by the way Link huffs a breathy whimper and shivers into Rhett’s chest, fists balled into his shirt for dear life. Rhett bites down a moan, fingers scraping for the keys and pulling them swiftly from Link’s pocket.

“C’mon, then,” he rumbles, hand finding Link’s and pulling him down the sidewalk.


	10. Like This

It isn’t really a question of whether anyone sees Rhett pulling Link to his dorm by the wrist; they’re on campus. People _ definitely _ see them. But Rhett finds that he doesn’t really care if his cover’s blown; if anyone catches a glimpse of them and asks about it later, Rhett will whip out his phone and shove Link’s selfies in their face to gloat: _ I was about to rail my boyfriend. Look how fuckin’ hot he is. _

They haven’t spoken since Malley’s—Rhett can’t say for sure why Link hasn’t uttered a sound, but for himself, he knows he doesn’t want to soil the last beautiful words from Link’s lips. It’s pristine in his memory and will be for months, probably _ years _ to come. _ “Take me. Please?” _ Fuck, such a polite yet filthy plea. And with their footfalls rushing down the hall to a vacant dorm room and Rhett’s grip on Link’s wrist hot with sweat, he gets the feeling Link is quiet for much the same reason.

The second the door’s unlocked, Link slips in without waiting for it to fully open and drags Rhett in behind him by the collar of his shirt. But like hell Rhett’s going to just play witness this time; the door slams shut with Link pinned back against it, and their mouths crash together rough enough to click teeth. 

Rhett’s already aching—has been since they parked and fumbled to unbuckle their seatbelts—and as Link whimpers against his starved licks and nibbles, Rhett palms the crotch of his pants, greedy to know he’s not alone in his need. He finds Link’s studded length, giving it a slow not-enough pump through fabric, and Link knocks his crown back to the door and hisses into Rhett’s kisses, eyes screwed shut in the dim light pouring in through the window. 

“_Fuck _yes. I want your cock, Rhett.”

In lieu of forming words, Rhett hums a low rumble and buries his head in Link’s neck. Link gasps into a smile against his ear.

“You like it when I talk about how much I want you? How watchin’ you punch out that asshole made my knees weak? Always knew you’d put those gorgeous arms to good use,” Link drawls, running a hand up the heft of the so-praised bicep. Goosebumps rise on Rhett’s shoulders and neck, and he shuts his eyes and crushes Link to the door with a breathy rut. 

He’s stupid with it—knows his dick’s getting more blood than his brain, but fuck if Link isn’t welcoming it free of judgment when he chuckles in Rhett’s ear: “Want you to keep usin’ those muscles, too. Still wanna bench press me, McLaughlin?”

Heavy-lidded, Rhett shudders and collects Link from the door, lifting him into the air: one hand supports his ass and the other ensures he won’t tip backwards. Link quails a small peep of surprise, gawking now that he’s eye-level with Rhett, but the next second he’s kissing him and locking his ankles at the low of Rhett’s back. In one gorgeous, dizzying move, Link grinds hard up into Rhett’s stomach, pushing his arousal into a different plane of fitness.

“Jesus Christ...” Is Rhett sweating? He suddenly feels _ drenched, _even though that’s not possible. With his arms full and pants straining, he nods at the wall, voice cracking. “Hit the light?”

Link flails for it, swiping the switch on the fourth try before returning his arms around Rhett’s neck, safe. “Don’t want this to be _ too _romantic, huh?”

In careful steps Rhett leads them to the bed, lowering Link’s hips to the edge and sinking to his knees on the floor, nestled between Link’s squirming legs. He lets his body cover Link’s in every sense: tracing his sides to bat the leather jacket away and off of him; dragging lips down his exactly-kissable throat, pulling the hem of his shirt up to meet the zenith of his v-neck once his runway’s run out; pressing his forehead to Link’s forgiving stomach and feeling the heat within, groaning at the plush skin there—_Link’s _skin.

“Just wanna be able to see what I’m doing,” Rhett finally answers, nibbling the cinch of Link’s joggers at his navel. Link cranes his head to look down, brushing his shirt up readily to reveal those angel wing nipple bars, eyes trained on Rhett. 

“Holy_ shit.” _

“That’s my line,” smiles Rhett, slipping two fingers beneath the waistband separating them and swiftly pulling it down. 

Freed, Link’s cock hits his stomach in a hushed _ thwap, _up close and waiting. Rhett’s seen him like this before, of course, but never point blank; it feels new all over again, and Rhett’s thighs clench while he finds Link’s base with fingers braver than his brain, gently standing him at attention. 

There aren’t any expletives fitting for being in this position: on his knees, the pretty little slit of Link’s decorated cock offering a growing bead of precum to him, Link’s tight balls peeking out from his bunched pants—and farther up, Link practically panting for him, hands dangerously close to his own nipples, eyes locked on Rhett and cheeks pink with life. There aren’t words good enough for _ any _of it, but one falls from Rhett’s lips anyway.

“Babydoll.” 

Link whines openly, his plea dissolving into a whimper, neck going limp and head falling to the mattress. But after a mindless thrust up into Rhett’s too-light touch, his head is right back up, evidently terrified to miss this.

“_Please,” _ the whisper breaks something, and Link shivers into rambling, “Rhett, _ please, _ I—I need you, you’ve no idea how many times I’ve busted to the _ thought _ of this. Been havin’ dreams about you. That first night when I sucked you off, I went home and pretended—wanted my fist to be your mouth _ so bad_. I’d give my left nut for you to give me head just once, dude.”

_ There it is again: ‘dude.’ Sometimes it’s ‘man’. _

_ He does that shit ‘cause he knows it gets me off. _

Rhett’s dick throbs in his jeans as confirmation, crushed tight. Swallowing, he hunches over and presses a kiss to Link’s smooth barbells. 

“S’that all I am to you?” he smolders, eyes locked on Link’s from his low vantage point.

“Wh-What?” Now officially in distress, Link peers at him in something akin to fear.

“Just a ‘guy’. Thought I was more than that,” mumbles Rhett, keeping his lips against Link’s shaft. His skin is velvety and burning hot, twitching against how perilously _ close _Rhett’s mouth is. The droplet at Link’s slit swells, looking much like a new piercing itself, shining under the light.

“You _ are, _ I just—Rhett, you _ know _you are.”

“So say it,” Rhett dares him, free hand finding Link’s hip to steady himself.

Link’s face screws up, and his mouth opens and closes a few times while his blush deepens. When he finds a word, it’s unbearably tender on his lips.

“Please, sweetheart?”

Rhett moves. Hiding a fierce blush, he hoists himself up and dips to take Link into his mouth, sucking at his angry neglected skin and noting the light tinge of salt where his precum bursts. The metal bars roll under Rhett’s tongue, tasteless—a nice tactile place to focus and tease with flat licks. 

In one long moan, Link braces himself up on an elbow, too weak to watch any other way. His head lolls to the side, eyes tight when Rhett glances up at him.

Just as quickly as he’s started, though, Link’s hand finds Rhett’s on his hip and he squeezes.

“Watch your teeth, babe.”

The pet name only makes Rhett’s cheeks burn more, coming from the deep timbre of another man, and he pauses to think about how to adjust his tactic. When he restarts, Link lets out a hiss that reads as approval—and that’s all Rhett needs to give an experimental head bob.

“Yeah,” sighs Link. Rhett doesn’t think he means to, but Link brings his thumb to his mouth and bites the nail of it gently, fixated. Speaking around it. “That’s real good, Rhett. _ Fuck. _Little more suction?” 

Rhett obeys, mindless, cheeks taut with the effort, and Link moans again, loud and open for him.

“Oh my _ god…!” _

_ Jesus Christ, Link’s vocal like this. _

Rhett clenches his thighs again, breaths coming in fast as he listens to his lover get off on him.

“C-Can you,” Link clears his throat and Rhett pops off of him to let him speak. He’s shaking when he lightly grazes the hand Rhett has at his base, “Get some spit on there, hon? Stroke in time with your mouth? You’re doing _ so _good, Rhett, it feels incredible.”

Rhett moves his hand to thickly spit on it, enjoying the way Link melts into another shiver at the promise of being totally wet. “Do I need to remind you?” Rhett pumps the slick up and down Link’s length, and Link’s gasps line with a hint of his wracked voice. “That you’re just as beautiful on the inside as you are on the outside? Never would’ve guessed. Seemed impossible.” In pure appreciation, Rhett plants a kiss on Link’s blushing sac and runs his tongue along the timid skin there haltingly. “I’ve wanted to do this to you from the second I met you.”

That information must not be a ‘reminder’, but _ news _to Link. His eyes grow large with wonder.

“You _ what?” _

Rhett smirks, making sure not to let his grip get lazy as he speaks, stroking through the words. “Yeah. Link, that first night? I came ‘cause I was thinking about _ you coming. _ I was thinking about this,” he nods to Link’s cock and follows the gesture, taking him into his mouth again, careful of his teeth as he was before.

“W-Wait,” Link chokes, tapping Rhett’s shoulder in a sudden near-panic. Rhett does, bemused, and Link grabs him by his collar and _ pulls_—guides him up onto the bed into another kiss, not caring if he tastes his own skin. Rhett relaxes his tamed nerves onto Link once more and when the kiss breaks, Link stares up at him breathlessly. 

“I wanna say that you’ve come a really long way, Rhett. You have no idea how proud I am of you.”

Rhett flushes, throwing his gaze across his room to the minifridge. “Nah,” he warbles.

“Yes,” Link demands, a hand on Rhett’s chin zipping their sights back together. “I mean it. You’ve grown _ so _ much, so fast. I’ve never seen anything like it. You’re… kinda unreal,” smiles Link, shifting to ignore his abandoned arousal. “You’re even stronger than you thought you could never be. You _ decked a guy in the face _for me tonight.”

...He had, hadn’t he?

“He might’ve hurt you,” whispers Rhett, picking a stray hair from Link’s eyes and sweeping it aside. What’s left beneath is pure adoration.

“Rhett,” Link mouths, eyes roaming his features. A peculiar warm bubbling starts in Rhett’s chest, and it splits: half plumes upwards into his head, into his thoughts themselves; the other half dives down and coils hot in his gut. As if watching that sensation spread in real time, Link offers their next step in a husky whisper. “Can we get naked now?”

With a blink Rhett nods once, and then they’re tearing at each other’s clothes; shirts pull over heads and get kicked to the floor, Link’s necklace finds the bedside table, and Rhett’s jean’s buttons present the most difficult obstacle with a runtime of four seconds. The last article is their boxers, and while Link strips his own off eagerly and flings them aside, he bats Rhett’s hands away from his own and instead kisses Rhett’s cock through the fabric—kisses the wet spot where he’s been crying for attention. Rhett wants to scold him for teasing, but he doesn’t have the heart, and as a reward Link gives him a brilliant smile before mercifully pulling his underwear off.

Rhett isn’t sure he’s ever seen himself this primed for _ more. _An angry vein pulses on the left side of his dick, and he thumbs it curiously—which only serves to bring up more precum. It leaks from his tip and down along his underside. He swears softly at the sight of himself so worked up, reaching two trembling fingers to smear the precum and prevent a mess.

On his knees in front of Link—who’s on his back, in Rhett’s bed, gazing up at him, _ completely naked—_piercings, chest, collarbones, balls, and all… they both stop to admire one another.

“Rhett,” starts Link, and Rhett reaches over and fetches his lube from his bedside table. The sight of it makes Link deflate. “Oh _ thank fuck. _I was about to ask.”

Bottle in one hand and cock in the other, Rhett settles back on his heels and stare at the silky liquid that sloshes within. “So… I, uh. I don’t actually…” He swallows and hums, pink with floundering.

“Hey, it’s okay. I can show you. Can I see it?” Link requests, holding out a hand. Count them both relieved, then; Rhett passes it over gratefully and watches Link pop the cap and slick up his fingers. 

Rhett’s probably gonna have to clean his sheets after this, isn’t? Link’s not being stingy with the lube. Does it really take that much…?

“Please don’t tease me,” is all the bashful warning Rhett gets before Link adjusts his hips and drops his hand down, well-wet fingers finding his entrance at the same time as Rhett’s eyes.

Pink, and puckered, and clean, and—sweet heavens, _ is it supposed to be cute? _It’s someone’s asshole, for fuck’s sake.

...Link’s asshole, that is.

_ It’s definitely cute. _

Link swirls his middle finger around, wetting the outside ridges, and after a deep, calm breath, he presses his pad against the ring of muscle and… he’s in. Not much, but watching it first hand is a lot—way more to absorb than any porn Rhett’s ever clicked on. 

“I… is that…?” Rhett starts, and Link looks up at him expectantly. He swallows. “Does it hurt?”

“At first,” Link nods, twisting his hand to get a better angle. “Sorry if it’s weird.”

“N-No.” Running his hands along his thighs, Rhett clenches them into fists. “It’s… shit, it’s _ sexy, _ Link. Can’t believe you’re gettin’ yourself ready for _ me_.”

Link laughs, but an endearing blush finds the apple of his cheeks. “Might take longer than you’d like. Can you, uh, do me a favor? Maybe pour some more on there?”

“‘Course.”

Rhett does as requested and watches in awe as Link takes his time with himself. First it’s one finger, barely in, but then it’s down to the knuckle and the strong tendons of Link’s hands shift and dance as he explores himself. Fingers stretching, entrance being stretched in turn. Only once he’s fully sheathed does he slowly begin pumping in and out. 

It seems difficult at first, but then Link arches his back and lines up a second finger for the next thrust in, and it goes in only with a slight wince.

“Y’okay?” Rhett breathes. He’s been stroking himself absently this entire time, trying not to let his head float off at the show. Before Link can answer, he pops the cap on the lube and adds more to Link’s hole, and Link lets out a melodic laugh, head slumped to the pillow. 

“You’re already getting the gist of it. It just—” He jolts, eyes widening a bit as he hits some sort of spot with those long fingers, and Rhett’s desire slams back into him, because _ fuck, _his cock is gonna be the thing hitting that spot in a minute, isn’t it? “Just takes a lot of lube. You can’t go too slow.”

“I dunno about _ that,” _Rhett states, and even though it’s only a half-joke, Link cracks up, shaking silently into the mattress. Just another turn-on about him from a list of hundreds.

“Okay… I think this is good enough,” he admits some moments later, twisting the pair of fingers and rotating them as best he can from the angle. “Wrist is startin’ to hurt, anyway.” 

“I’ve got you,” Rhett promises, and he pours more lube into his hand. 

_ This is happening. You’re about to be inside of him. Holy shit. _

“Please be gentle at first,” Link requests, resting his sore hand on his stomach and giving his tired dick a nudge as thanks for patience. He’s still plenty hard—his balls twitch at the notion of more attention.

“I’ll go slow, babydoll. Don’t wanna hurt you.” 

Once his cock is deemed slick enough, Rhett crawls to close the distance between them on his knees, and Link lifts his legs into the air readily. He still isn’t completely sure what he’s doing, but Rhett takes one thigh in his hand to steady himself, the other hand guiding the head of his cock to Link’s pucker—and sucks in a shaky breath. When he looks up, Link is watching him with blown pupils.

“You ready?”

“Yeah. Do it.”

“Okay… okay.” 

He lines himself up and presses forward just so. The muscles give way, slowly—sinking into silky warmth—and Rhett sees why Link had needed to work himself open; even with all that preparation, the second Rhett is inside of him, Link is still ridiculously tight. 

And hot, and smooth, and ready to be fucked. 

“Shit,” Rhett hisses, both trembling hands finding Link’s thighs for reassurance, and Link nods, beckoning his hips forward.

“C’mon, sweetheart. More. I can take it.”

“I’m not sure _ I _can!” 

More laughter, but Rhett eases in, following Link’s increasingly desperate gestures for Rhett’s chest to meet his own. “Bend me in half, baby, c’mon—keep goin’.”

And then they’re forehead to forehead, Rhett’s shoulders heaving for air to calm his desire, Link squirming beneath him, adjusting to the leap in size. Rhett grunts, swallows, voice comes out like hot gravel. “Y’alright, babydoll?

“Y-Yeah. Yeah, I’m—holy shit, Rhett, you’re huge.”

Hard not to let his ego swell, with a proclamation like that. 

“Does it… do you feel good?”

Link grimaces against everything—against Rhett’s sincerity right in his face, against the pain that’s yet to turn to pleasure, against his inability to speak from being so full—and instead cranes his head up to kiss Rhett. Soft and open and seeking, and Rhett kisses him back. 

_I’m fucking Link. I’m kissing him while_ _fucking him._

Not meaning to, Rhett’s hips stutter at the thought, and Link hums high into the kiss, a delicious sound that Rhett’s blood wants more of.

“Yeah? S’that feel good?” Rhett drawls, smiling, kissing Link once more—and as he shifts his hips back slowly to pull out to his head, he snakes an arm between Link’s legs to cup his face and hold him still. “You feel… like _ heaven _to me, Link.”

Another whine, and Link’s eyes are screwed shut, but that’s more than okay. He’s so good, _ such _a good person for doing this—for taking Rhett. Setting his knees carefully, Rhett pushes back in, bottoming out, and Link gasps.

On the third tortuously slow thrust, Link’s tension dissolves into a deep moan, his shoulders going lax and eyes falling open.

“Rhett,” he whispers, lips swollen from kissing and eyelids heavy. Still, those icy blues skewer just as thoroughly as they had the night they’d met, and now Rhett gets to see them wrecked with sex, wrecked with _ him. _Rhett keeps up the steady, slow fuck, tempering himself and going against his raging libido.

“This is my favorite thing,” Rhett decides, pressing his lips thin, trying not to laugh when Link melts into giggles. _ He’s the most gorgeous person on the planet. I’m sure of it. _

“Will you—” Another giggle, and then Link’s grinning up at him. “Give it to me, Rhett. I know you want to. Just _ fuck _ me already, I need to come! We stumbled in here with blue balls and now you’re like, _ makin’ love _ to me, and _ God, _ just _ fuck me like you mean it—” _

He won’t ever admit that it had been the ‘making love’ comment that had broken his restraints.

Rhett bites his lower lip hard and_ thrusts, _skin smacking skin as he buries himself in Link roughly—but before Link has a chance to get through one hit to his nerves, Rhett’s doing it again, and again, unforgiving. Using every muscle he’s worked so hard to sculpt to drown Link in wave after wave of unrelenting heat, measured by gasps and Link’s scandalized begging expression. 

That’s the thing about conditioning: Rhett’s not gonna get tired. Not for a long, long time. And he _ knows _it.

_ “I—ahh, fuck! Fuck, fuck—Rhett!” _

“What were you sayin’, babydoll?” Rhett teases between breaths, and he barks a laugh when Link flips him off with the hand not currently twisted in Rhett’s sheets. “Aww. I like you too, Link. Pretty and tight, takin’ me like this. Drop-dead _gorgeous _is what you are.”

Link’s arm shoots up around Rhett’s neck and pulls him back down, crushing their faces together as he bids for some grip on reality. His hot moans hit Rhett’s lips, and Rhett growls, drunk on the sensation of finally—_finally _having Link all to himself, in the exact way he’d been dreaming of for weeks.

“Been waitin’ on this for such a long time, haven’t you?” he rumbles, fingers slick with lube and sweat when they find Link’s chest and tweak his nipple bars. Link gasps sharp, spilling the exhale into another moan that shakes each time Rhett pounds into him. It’s obscene, and perfect, and Rhett could die happy having heard it at last. “Hope it was worth the wait, buttercup. _ God, _you’ve been so patient for it—is it what you wanted?”

Link whimpers—it’s all he seems able to do anymore, aside from watch Rhett through eyes tight with pleasure—and Rhett ducks down to suck his neck with bruising intent.

“C’mon,” Rhett goads against him, “s’my cock fillin’ you up just what you wanted, or isn’t it? You can tell me.”

“M-More,” chokes Link, and Rhett quirks an eyebrow, pulling back with a smile.

“It’s more than what you wanted?”

“More a-as in fuck me _ harder,” _Link demands, suddenly angry—glaring up at Rhett in blushing ruin, fueled by testosterone—and Rhett trembles all over.

Only stopping the onslaught enough to brace his hands on the back of Link’s knees and fold him in half the way he’d been wanting, Rhett lets loose on him. 

Each thrust goes _ deep, _deeper than he thought he could before, and Rhett’s actually beginning to feel the work-out; his back muscles and thighs burn as he fucks down into Link for all he’s worth, rough breaths tattering apart into gasps as he gets close. Link’s cock slaps against his stomach, leaking everywhere and now a shade of red Rhett hasn’t seen on him before.

There’s a time where neither speak, lost in their heat, the slap of their bodies meeting and lungs heaving with moans and hiccups more telling than any dirty nothings. 

Link takes Rhett’s cock like he’s meant for it, muscles curling and releasing on a wrecked loop of writhing, eyes finding Rhett’s and ruining other lays for him with how they brim—and Rhett’s fighting for air yet won’t slow a bit, not even if it kills him. He’s _ going _to make Link come like this.

“You ready, Link?” Rhett husks, voice shredded, and Link cries out, hands finding the headboard to give him something to brace against. “I want you to come for me now, baby.”

Link nods, frantic, sweat clinging to his face when he blurts, “_Gonna, please kiss me,” _in one rushed breath, and Rhett’s desperate to give him that—lowers himself down from his push-up, chests and hearts sinking close again, and Link latches onto his mouth with a melting whimper. 

_ I didn’t know it could be like this. _

Rhett feels the whine at first, just a meek thing in Link’s throat, but three more powerful hits to his nerves and it breaks into a high moan—tightening, quaking, thrashing—and Link shoots onto his own chest in thick, hot ropes from pulses that go on far longer than Rhett’s ever seen from a man. 

Link chokes a noise of relief into Rhett’s mouth, restarting the kiss, needy and heavy like Rhett’s the sun of his solar system, and Rhett’s mind shuts out everything except Link.

“Show me you been thinkin’ about me, Rhett,” Link requests in a low, used voice. Totally fucked out because of _ him. _

Rhett only lasts a few more thrusts. 

He bears down once he’s hit with it, pressing his forehead to Link’s and groaning to fill him up, thighs shaking, arms shaking, the exertion of it whited out from release. Fuck_, _he wants to bite Link, to mark him up and claim him, to make sure he never gets this from anyone else, to make sure he can’t leave after this is over...

Then it _ is _ over. 

Rhett goes totally limp on top of him, panting and gasping from their marathon. Hands stroke down his sweaty back, hushing him and holding him—but Link _ can’t _be comfortable like that, so Rhett eases off of him and collapses to the bed at his side, drained through and through.

Easy as breathing, Link scoots to gather Rhett into his arms, pausing when he remembers the mess on his chest. “Hey,” he asks softly, like being too loud will break Rhett in this state, “do you have tissues, or…?”

“Yep,” Rhett leans over and reaches under his bed, finding a sock and holding it up to Link with an expression asking, _ good enough? _

“Jesus.” Link laughs and takes it, wiping away his cum and turning the sock inside out to toss back to the floor before settling down and collecting Rhett in his arms, face to chest. “You really _ are _a straight guy.”

“No,” Rhett shakes his head at the joke, first slow and tired. Then insistent as he presses his nose to Link’s collarbone. He smells of sweat, sex, of Link and himself. Of _ them. _“No, I’m really, really not straight.”

“Wow. You’re admitting it out loud,” Link notes tenderly. The hand that runs through Rhett’s damp hair is gentle and patient, coaxing any remaining fatigue and tension out through sweeping brushes. 

“Feels… dumb,” Rhett mumbles, “that I ever tried to deny it. You made it clear as day, Link.” 

_ Why do I feel like crying? _

“Thank you,” he adds, throat thick.

“You’re gonna ride me harder than I’ve ever been ridden in my life, and _ you’re _ gonna thank _ me _for it?!” 

“I’m serious. Thank you. You—you… I can’t… I don’t know how—”

“Shh.” Link holds his head close and plants a knowing kiss in his hair. Rhett’s arms find Link’s waist, turmoiled with exhaustion, and encircle him. Drag him close. “You don’t have to explain it. I know. I’m happy you’re there. Give yourself some more time to process. You’ll be okay. One day at a time.”

Rhett blinks sleepily into Link’s bosom, then lets his eyes fall shut. “I… I really like you, Link.”

Link swallows. “I really like you too, Rhett.”

“Thanks for helping me.”

“...You’re really not going to leave once you’re comfortable with yourself?”

“I’d rather break my leg and lose my chance of being drafted.”

“Well don’t say _ that!” _

“S’true.”

Link huffs and crushes Rhett into another hug, tilting his chin back to kiss him, chaste and soft. Even without tongue, Link still tastes sweet.

“Hey… I have a thing comin’ up, and you could come with me if you wanted,” Link says, and Rhett tilts his head to peer at him through one eye. “But it can wait until the morning.”

“You sure? I’m not so tired we can’t talk.”

“I’m sure. I definitely won’t forget to invite you. Right now, I just wanna enjoy this.”


	11. Pride

“So why’s this in March, again?” Rhett asks through the tightening bow tie around his throat. Amazing that they’d found one large enough to fit around the tree trunk supporting his head. “I thought this kinda stuff happened later in the year.”

Rachel gives a nod, half-occupied by straightening Rhett’s new accessory. “Normally, yeah. But this is _ NC State’s _thing. If we waited until June, classes would be out.”

“Makes sense.”

“It’s cool that you’re making time for it in the middle of tournament season,” she hums, and with a final tug, steps back. “_There! _All done.” Rhett stands from his hunch and thumbs the bow tie, much to Rachel’s disdain. “Don’t touch it! All my hard work,” she hiss-teases, and Rhett flashes a sorry smile.

“My bad.”

Rachel rolls her eyes with a grin and rushes off to help someone else.

Even through all its parties, Rachel’s apartment has never been this busy; the gang is bustling about and preparing to hit the town, some still fiddling with their outfits or loading backpacks with water bottles and granola bars, others perfecting their cat-eyes or making sure their beauty marks are juxtaposed near their facial hair. It’s an explosion of defiant color, dull only in comparison to the bright faces and gaudy laughter that never seems to peter out.

After a sweeping survey, Rhett re-opens the selfie camera on his phone and considers himself. The rainbow bow tie is… kinda nice, actually. A bit peppery, for his tastes, but it adds a splash of dazzle to his collared white button-up. He doesn’t look _ bad, _at least.

“You look awesome!” pips a voice, and Rhett lowers his phone to find Elm gazing up at him, done-up in a meticulous black romper, silk cape, and purple-black-white makeup glamorous enough for a magazine cover.

“Look who’s talkin’,” smiles Rhett. “You’re humorin’ me.”

“No way. It’s like, understated, sure, but you look _ so _fly! Link did a great job on your hair.”

He had, hadn’t he? Rhett admires himself, noting the golden coiffed curls and the creeping upward tug of his lips in his mirrored image. “Thanks, Elm.”

“Of course! Where’d Linkypoo run off to, anyway? We’ve gotta head out soon.”

“Linkypoo’s around somewhere, I’m sure,” Rhett chuckles. He takes his own mesh bag off and slips his phone into it, wiping his warm hands on his jeans. As if summoned by the nickname itself, Link ducks out of a room and bee-lines for them, hopping over messes of palettes and phones in the floor.

He’s absolutely precious in the outfit he’s chosen: tight denim shorts that cut off halfway to his knee, a loose black tanktop that reads _ down with gender roles, up with pizza rolls_, and white canvas shoes that have been Sharpied a whirl of bright colors. He’s—and Rhett will never say this word aloud, even if it’s true—a _ snack. _

_ God, I’m lucky to be with him. _

“Rhett, look what Rachel had in her closet!” Link chirps, and holds up what appears to be a mess of bands, yet again rainbow.

“Is that a leash? I’m _ not _wearing a leash,” Rhett smirks, and Elm screams into laughter, pardoning herself. A withering-but-amused stare from Link feeds Rhett’s ego. He’s good at that—bolstering Rhett without meaning to.

“They’re suspenders, man. You would look awesome in these!”

“My pants have a lotta leg to fall down ‘fore they’re around my ankles. Think I’ll be okay.”

“No one uses ‘em like that anymore. You can even—” Not waiting for permission, Link crowds in and begins clipping the contraptions to Rhett’s pants.

“Hey!”

“Trust me, sweetheart.” 

It takes some lengthening to get the suspenders up and over Rhett’s shoulders, stretched to their limit, but when Link steps back and views his work, he lights up like a sunrise and Rhett blushes.

“Really?”

“Your eyebrow ring… it’ll always suit you, I swear.”

“Nah. Hush.”

“Rhett,” Link mumbles, honing in on him and crowding close to his chest. Rhett welcomes him with a timid smile—they’d _ made out _in front of everyone here, after all. No point being coy.

“What’s up?”

“I dunno. Dunno how to say it,” admits Link. He wraps his arms around Rhett’s middle, and Rhett hums and pecks a kiss into his hair. “I’m just really glad you agreed to join us, I guess.”

_ Allies go too sometimes, right? To show support? _

Rhett doesn’t dare let that thought slip out. He crushes the excuse in his throat, accepts the fear he feels for being open about himself and his desires. Today isn’t a day for defenses.

“I’m still pretty nervous,” is what he says instead, and Link nods, all too ready to pull that understanding from its holster.

“I know. Don’t—”

“Okay! Everyone ready to head out?!” Christopher asks (yells at) the room, already sentried by the front door in his crop top. He’s got the word “queer” painted on his stomach, pointed down towards his crotch, and Rhett glances at it before throwing his gaze to the ceiling. Link taps his chest, anchoring his attention back down to those lovely eyes. 

“Don’t worry. I’m not gonna hang all over you, alright? You need to do this at your own pace. No one can make you do anything you don’t wanna do, you _ dapper bastard._”

The nerves in Rhett’s stomach bubble out in a laugh, and he tickles Link’s sides. Their titters are interrupted with a soft kiss from Rhett—_I really care about you. Thank you. _

“Hey lovebirds!” Christopher barks, ferrying people into the stairwell. “Let’s hit the road!”

With a bobbing bounce, Link leads the way, and Rhett follows, chewing down his desire to hold Link’s hand.

_ My own pace… _

_ Okay. _

* * *

Rhett hadn’t been prepared for a pride celebration of _ this magnitude_.

The walk had only been a couple of blocks, the group buzzing with energy and gaiety the entire time—reveling in the crisp March sun and giving one another piggy back rides. Rhett had even been hustled into the middle of the gaggle like a duckling in need of protection, despite standing heads over all but Christopher. 

It had been nice. He had _ belonged. _

And then they’d stepped into historic Raleigh. 

The streets are barricaded off and thousands of people—students and locals alike—don flamboyant outfits celebrating themselves, rushing about in a mass of noise. Live music, tents from sponsors affiliated with NC State serving food and alcohol to those old enough, confetti cannons sparkling the air with glitter and cries of joy, face-painting done by strangers on curbs, and hugging. So much hugging. 

Rhett stands, taking it all in at the precipice of the road blockade. He’s the only one who hadn’t rushed in. Everyone seems to know each other here. Save _ him_, of course.

“You ready?” Link’s voice breaks through his reverie, and he snaps his head down to eye the guy at his side. He’s watching him with an encouraging smile. He’d stayed behind.

_ Of course he stayed. _

“Gotta do it sooner or later, right?” Rhett laughs, hollow, and Link shrugs.

“We could go home. I really don’t mind, Rhett. I just don’t want you to feel uncomfortable.”

_ Is this me? _

Rhett gazes out over the faces, all so sure and righteous in their existence, bodies in pure community with one another. 

_ Do I belong here? _

Honestly, Rhett isn’t sure. He doesn’t feel as loudly as these people do. 

Maybe that’s something deeper, though. Something he needs to address later, in Link’s arms, in one of their beds and hidden away from the world.

_ …I belong at Link’s side, at least. _

A deep breath lifts and sets Rhett’s shoulders. He turns to Link and puts on another smile, this one genuine and embarrassed. “Let’s get in there and have fun. Yeah?”

Link grins a toothy thing, cocking his head to the crowd. “Lead the way, then.”

Compared to everyone around, it’s a slow stupor with which Rhett navigates NC State Pride. He allows himself to discover things in a dreamlike fog: the banners and signs reading things he doesn’t understand, but is willing to learn; the attitude of those in attendance and how effortless it is for them to shift from strangers to friends over one shared experience; the _ diversity _of people. All in one place, they make “queer” the standard. Usually they would have to hide, right? Be lost amongst those who’re straight, or whose bodies match their souls at birth. Those who identify with majorities.

Maybe this is their way of getting to be the majority, even for a day. 

A fleeting glimpse at a world where love and self aren’t constrained by oppression. By shame.

Someone offers Rhett a bottle of water, joking that he’s tall so it “must be hot up there,” and Rhett takes it with a flimsy thanks. After one sip, he stows it in his mesh pack and checks to make sure Link is nearby.

He is. He seems to be staying within earshot of Rhett, hovering about and trailing him even if he’s also chatting with folks. Good. He deserves to have a good time here and not worry about babysitting, anyway. A kernel of gratitude forms in Rhett’s heart, that Link doesn’t try to shoehorn him into any conversations. 

_ He’s good to me. Careful with me. _

Excusing the heat in his cheeks to spring warmth, Rhett beckons to Link silently. Even mid-convo, Link perks up and bids farewell to the group of drag queens he’d been talking to. He jogs over, stopping a few paces away and fidgeting with his hands. “Yeah?”

_ He wants me to have a good time so badly. _

“Wanna get your face painted with me?” Rhett asks, motioning to the little set up of the nearest face painter, and Link blinks in surprise.

“Sure! I mean… are _ you _sure?”

“When in Rome,” Rhett shrugs, and it isn’t until he gives Link an incredulous smile that Link nods eagerly. 

“Let’s do it!”

There are many options on the volunteer’s—Lacy’s, Rhett learns by asking—board. Just about any label you could want. Any _ flag _ you could want. Stars, hearts, even _ fuck the right _ and _ ban the church _for those wanting a more political angle. Link doesn’t waste any time getting a simple rainbow heart on his cheek, eyelashes closed peacefully as Lacy does swift work. She sings along with the music playing on her phone stand, 

_ “If he don't love you anymore, _ _  
_ _ just walk your fine ass out the door. _

_ I do my hair toss, check my nails. _ _  
_ _ Baby, how you feelin'?” _

“Feelin’ good as hell,” Link answers with a smirk, and Lacy squeals and playfully bats his shoulder before he hops to a giddy stand. Had Rhett missed something…?

“Alright!” she announces, patting the curb, and Rhett lowers himself to sit. “What you want, stretch?”

“Actually… I, uh. I dunno,” he admits, chuckling.

“No? Don’t see anything you like on my sheet?”

“Why don’t you surprise me?”

“Hmm.” She considers it, tapping the butt of her brush to her chin. “Well, why don’t you tell me a little about yourself, sugar?”

“Oh—I… Umm.”

She’s asking for his identity.

She’s asking him to say it out loud. In public.

And even there, under Link’s gaze—with his boyfriend wearing his heart on his cheek, both adorned in the reason for the season—the word chokes and trips on his tongue, and Rhett’s left speechless. He furrows his brow, seconds ticking by without an answer, until Link hunches down on his knees and says plainly, “He loves basketball.”

“Ooh, a player!” Lacy laughs, and touches Rhett’s back genially. “You play for the school?”

“Y-Yeah,” Rhett says, able to do that much. He has to start somewhere.

“Oh, _ damn—_I’ve got an idea, I know just the thing…” Without another word, Lacy starts, and Link watches, rapt, as _ something _unfurls on Rhett’s cheek. The brush is oily and ticklish, and a few times Rhett has to stop himself from shying away, much to Lacy’s amusement. “You might be a giant, but you’re just a big softie, ain’t ya?”

With a glance up at Link, Rhett can see how badly he wants to confirm her suspicions. But he doesn’t—that would be too telling for them, wouldn’t it? He thinks Rhett would get mad for confirming their familiarity.

Or maybe he’s not overthinking everything the same way Rhett is, since he blurts, “Oh, _ cool,” _ apparently able to recognize the image now. Lacy nods, grinning ear to ear as she dabs at her canvas.

“Alright. There we go!” She sets her brush aside and supplies a hand mirror to Rhett for his judgment. It’s a profile of a wolf howling, done up in black—but the moon behind it is a burst of colors, a rainbow mess of watercolor clinging to his skin.

“Oh my gosh,” Rhett breathes, moving as if to touch it but stopping at the last second. Who _ wouldn’t _think this is cool? In awe he turns this way and that before finally meeting Lacy’s mischievous gaze. “Wolf Pack Pride.”

“You like?” she tests, grinning, and Rhett laughs. And it’s a real laugh.

“Yeah! This is fuckin’ awesome,” he agrees, almost wishing he could carry around the mirror the rest of the day just to look at himself. “Thank you, Lacy.”

“No problem! Have a good pride, y’all!”

“It’s you, Rhett!” Link giggles, pulling him to his feet and admiring the work with shining eyes. “Wow. It’s _ so _ freakin’ cool. It’s like… what you love and what you _ love, _coming together. It would make an amazing tattoo, if you ever wanna go back to Warlock’s with me.”

_ Which ‘love’ is the one he’d emphasized? _

Rhett stops, not letting go of his hands after the assistance. Link squirms, trying to pull away in the split second before he realizes the grip is intentional—but when he gets it, he stills and peers up at Rhett, lips parting slightly. 

“How weird have I been acting?” Rhett asks with a gentle, self-mocking smirk, and Link shakes his head, matching Rhett’s good humor pound for pound.

“I really don’t mind, Rhett. You're doing fine. Today’s pride day for me for two reasons.”

“Ugh,” Rhett groans, grinning into the distance as Link snickers. “So cheesy.”

“‘Scuse me!” chimes a chipper voice, and Rhett and Link turn in sync to find a man with both a large camera and an _ NC State _ lanyard hanging from his neck. “D’you mind if I snap a photo for the newspaper and website? You two look so festive! Love the face paint,” he motions, but Rhett hadn’t heard anything past the word “photo”.

Printed. Memorialized, for anyone to see—that Rhett had attended Pride, gotten his face painted with a guy who may or may not be his boyfriend, but who’s he kidding? No one would think “may not be”, seeing them standing together like this, two bodies of the same in the midst of a festival which celebrates loving same-bodies. 

Anyone could see it. 

Classmates. 

Professors—and by extension, parents.

Teammates.

“Would that be okay?” the photographer tries again, wiggling his camera.

“Uhh,” Link shifts his shoulders; he defers entirely to Rhett, and even if the singular attention hadn’t made it obvious enough, he ensures it’s clear: “Totally up to you. Either way, I’ll be fine.”

_ ‘Fine’. _

Rhett swallows, shouldering his mesh pack—and although he doesn’t mean to, he’s staring at the photographer. Probably even glaring.

_ I want Link to be more than ‘fine’. _

With a deep breath, Rhett slings off his bag and rips it open, fishing to the bottom. 

_ I don’t care whether I make _ anyone else _ happy. _

_ I wanna make _ Link _ happy. _

Rhett’s fingers slip against the fabric—stuffed into the knapsack earlier on a whim, in the off-chance he should find some shred of bravery today. He still isn’t sure he _ is _brave, but… 

_ I want to show him that I’m trying. That I care. _

He pulls his jersey out, shaking it free of its wrinkles, and Link pops into surprise. “Whoa! I didn’t know you had that on you! That’d be a great look for a photo, Rhett. Total Wolf pride! Show queer fans that you support them!” Link gushes excitedly, and Rhett turns to him, shaking his head resolutely.

“It’s for _ you _to wear.”

Instantly, Link’s expression wans neutral, and he triple-takes between the red shirt and Rhett’s face. “What…?”

“You said—you said you wanted to wear one with my name on it,” Rhett stammers, holding it up and nodding to the white-stitched embroidery. _ McLaughlin. _“I figured—just—if you wanted to…”

But Link doesn’t take initiative. He’s frozen, eyes locked on the shirt as if it’s an anomaly that Rhett could’ve brought it for him, jaw slack when Rhett gently lifts it over him and pulls it down over his black tank. Once his head’s through the collar, Link marvels down at himself.

“I’m... I'm wearing your number.”

“You are,” Rhett confirms, heart racing. Fear, excitement, adoration.

Relief.

“I’m—I’m wearing—I’ve got your name. On the back,” Link mumbles, and when he tilts his head back to meet Rhett’s eyes, he’s beaming. It’s the most beautiful expression Rhett’s ever seen on him, euphoric and ecstatic, downright dazzling, the most flawless, selfless, open, accepting, loving person, begging to be swept up and kissed, and—

_ Fuck it. _

“Make sure you get this,” Rhett instructs to the photographer, who fumbles with his camera, but Rhett doesn’t wait to gather Link into a fierce kiss—possessive. _ Mine. _

_ Us. _

Cradling him, pouring every beat of his heart into the moment, into the crowds, into the openness around and not caring when someone nearby cheers. Link melts into him, wearing his jersey, gasping and giggling and perfect—the way those beloved lips turn up in happiness. One cheer morphs into more the longer Rhett indulges in—no, _lets_ himself have Link, unapologetic.

Rhett knows Link is crying before their kiss breaks, and the moment it does, he’s pushing the tears from Link’s cheeks with his thumbs, careful not to smudge his heart. “Shh,” he hushes, and Link laughs into their hug, surely on the verge of play-hitting Rhett for borrowing his calm-down shush. “Was it that bad? So bad you gotta cry?”

“Rhett, oh my God,” is all Link murmurs, burrowing into his chest and squeezing him tight.

The photographer thanks them heartily, and somewhere in the crowd, the same voice that had first cheered their kiss calls out again, “_Get it, _Rhett!”

Rhett’s focus snaps up, searching for the familiar timbre.

It's Brad. Standing not twenty feet away.

Holding a flag, rainbows painted on the crests of his cheeks.

His arm around Christopher, who’s smiling.

Rhett doesn’t mean to yell, but he can’t help it when his voice cracks on “What the _ fuck?” _

“Happy Pride, man! Glad to have you!” Brad cackles, throwing his head back with a “_Woo!” _before kissing Christopher hard on the lips. Rhett gawks, locked in place, and somewhere in his arms, Link pats his chest. 

“You didn’t know? Christopher’s dating your teammate.”

“Yeah, _ I can see that.” _

“Been meaning to tell you that Christopher wants go on a double date sometime. Brad told him he’d tried talkin’ to you to get it set up, but you said you were too busy.”

“...No shit?”

“Rhett? Baby?” Link requests, and he manages to tear his sight down to find Link smirking at him. “You’re never as alone as you think you are.”

Rhett’s head whips up again, those comforting yet devastating words ricocheting in his mind.

So nothing’s ever just black and white… is that it? There are no boxes to fit into...? No “correct” way to live? All at once, that’s common sense and the best kept secret he’d direly needed to get in on, and he’s stunned with it—the proof there before him exemplified by Brad, openly gay; another athlete, another well-known member of his team. Out here, living loudly and happily, with another guy. Having the time of his life, sure to show up in papers as well.

“I’m not alone. Am I?” Rhett wonders quietly, then he returns his attention where it belongs. 

Link smiles up at him and gives his arm a careful squeeze.

Everything around them is movement and color and noise, and Rhett assigns his existence solely to the pools of clear blue in Link’s eyes. Just for a moment. Just long enough to acknowledge that once, that cerulean had held a deadly riptide that had pulled him under and drowned him, merciless. Yet that same current was fleeting and unpredictable as life itself, and now promised the cyan skies overhead—promised the ability to breathe, freedom. 

Crystal clear and obvious.

Rhett feathers a touch over Link’s brow, gently allaying his bangs. When he leans down to kiss him, it’s deliberate; a package for other things. Things that should be unwrapped together. “I can’t say it enough, I don’t think… but thank you, Link.”

“You don’t have to thank me,” Link grips Rhett’s hips and shimmies his own playfully. “I’m just glad you ever wanted me in the first place.”

“You’ve _ no _idea,” chuckles Rhett, pressing his nose into his boyfriend’s hair, and Link bubbles out another laugh; it’s as warm and irresistible as the rest of him is.

“Happy Pride, Rhett.”

“Happy Pride, babydoll. Now, why don’t we go see what the rest of our friends have gotten themselves into?” The suggestion comes with an open palm turned up in the air between them, and Link swells and takes it, interlacing their fingers easily. Rhett relaxes, finally quenched on that means of affection he’d been wanting all day. Link makes it feel so easy.

“Can we get some snowcones first?” Link requests, and Rhett smiles.

Link makes _everything_ easy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading _Everyone but Me_! This fic was a pure joy to write. A lot of it comes from my own college experience, so I appreciate you taking the journey with me. ❤︎
> 
> As always, I'm on tumblr at [its-mike-kapufty](https://its-mike-kapufty.tumblr.com/). Feel free to say hello! :)


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